


The Fall of Kings

by nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive
Summary: Written pre 2005. Posting for archival purposes.This wasn't the life he wanted.
Relationships: Martin Fitzgerald/Danny Taylor, Martin Fitzgerald/Samantha Spade
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon AU with Sam/Martin unhappily married and Danny returning to the scene. Warnings for adultery and graphic imagery.

It clings to him, settling into his skin until he can feel its taint.

Oozing into his pores until he's certain it must be rushing in his blood stream. Stale smoke and the damp scent of perspiration, surrounding him and he knows no amount of showering will cleanse him of it completely. But he tries. Scrubs himself raw and the showers at the gym are empty for once. No accusing eyes or lean bodies wondering why they hadn't seen him working out. He had, just not here.

He runs fingers through damp hair, wringing out the last traces of shampoo and arching back under the water. Several degrees too hot and he knows his skin will be flushed pink by the time he's done. Stained from heat and maybe it will mask the marks marring his shoulder or the bruises on his hips. It does nothing to alleviate his guilt.

He always feels guilty. Always vows to stop and it lasts until the next sleepless night. Lasts until the next itch --the one resting right in the centre of his back and just out of reach-- becomes too overwhelming to ignore. And he wants to ignore it. Fights to ignore it and every time he finds himself parking his car in the dimly lit alley, he curses himself for his weakness.

The water turns cold, freezing his veins and, for a moment, he considers not going home. Considers getting in his car and driving until the sun meets the horizon. Driving until he no longer remembers where he is or even who he is. Because this isn't the life he wanted --ironic that he fought so hard for it.

The parking lot is empty when he finally makes it out to his car, the streets dark and deserted and he fumbles with shaking hands for his keys. It takes him several tries to unlock the doors, several more to find a comfortable position in the driver's seat and his body protests sitting. Just punishment, he thinks.

He takes the long way home, driving in endless circles until the bridge to Queens comes into view. Even then he considers turning around, staying at some cheap motel in the city and maybe Sam will understand. Except he knows she won't, and he's lied to her enough as it is.

The car shudders to a stop in their driveway and he's starting to hate their house. Hate the whitewashed shutters and small flower boxes under the windowsills. Hate the perfectly mowed lawn and the cobble stone steps leading up to the front porch. Mostly, he hates their door; stained too dark a blue and he feels as though he's living in some American dream. Considers painting a sign proclaiming that a white, straight couple lives here.

The living room is dark, but he can see the faint glow of light from beneath the door to the study and he knows Sam's awake. Not waiting, she never waits. Probably pouring over notes and past cases and whatever it is she does to lessen the boredom in her life. He wonders if she's ever had an affair. Thinks it might be better if she has.

The door squeaks as he opens it, just enough to announce his presence but Sam doesn't look up, engrossed in her work and he remains frozen in the doorway. Watching for a moment, taking in the slight hunch of defeated shoulders and, in this instance, he thinks maybe they're killing one another.

"Hey, I'm going to head to bed," Martin comments, more out of obligation than anything.

"Okay, how was the gym?" Sam asks, never once turning and at least their routine never alters.

"Good, got in about five miles on the treadmill," Martin lies, and he still isn't certain when lying became this easy.

"Did you remember to pick up milk?" Sam asks, and Martin wonders if she even heard his first answer.

"Oh, um... sorry, I forgot. I'll get some tomorrow morning," Martin replies, cursing himself for forgetting something so simple.

"Okay, goodnight."

"Night."

And their bedroom is too dark, the walls tinted an unsightly shade of mauve and the curtains too thick to allow in any light. He changes in the bathroom, locking the door behind him before slipping into a matched pajama set that covers him from head to toe. He avoids the mirror and leaves the room, padding across the slate grey carpet and climbing beneath Egyptian cotton sheets.

He's asleep long before Sam comes to bed.

~*~

They ride to work in separate cars. And it is practical, because she has her book club meeting after work and he likes to stay late. Likes to arrive early too and the office is still empty when he flicks on his computer. There's a lamp on in Vivian's office and he knows she's somewhere in the building. Probably being briefed on a new procedure or something equally as dull. And to think, he once wanted Jack's old job.

Now he's content to take orders from Vivian, spend the day running after leads and occasionally saving a life. Still, it isn't the same. Not since Jack moved to Chicago and even less since Danny transferred to Miami. He finds himself thinking errant thoughts about quitting and having his father set him up somewhere in Washington. He wonders if Sam would go with him. Wonders if he wants her to.

It isn't that he doesn't care about her, he does, in his own way, but this isn't the life he wanted; a life he tried so hard to earn, so hard to build and now that he has it, it's nothing like he imagined. And he still can't pinpoint why, because this is what he's been told he should want: a rewarding career, a wife, two kids and a house in the suburbs.

Except he doesn't really have any of that, instead he's stuck with a demanding job, no kids, a mortgage that consumes half his salary and a wife that he hasn't touched in months. A wife that still keeps a picture of their old boss on her desk and Martin's fairly certain he should have seen it coming. Should have listened to Danny when he told Martin this wasn't the answer.

But he didn't listen, ignored Danny's warning and then Danny left and Sam still has that damn picture. Still stares at it when she thinks no one's looking and Martin wonders how he missed it. How he missed so many things but he's gotten to the point where he's too tired to question it.

Too tired to do anything but log in and finish up paperwork from their last case. Cleaning out the old to make room for the new, and there will be new cases. Missing kids and mothers, missing brothers and sisters and half of them will end in heartache. The other half in some semblance of victory and even those will be bittersweet.

And at the end of the day, he'll go home to an empty house and pace restlessly until Sam arrives. And even then he won't relax, he'll spend the night twitching, staring at the clock and listening to the rustling of Sam's papers. And finally the walls will start closing in around him and he'll make up some excuse and leave.

He wonders if this is why most marriages end in divorce, if every relationship fades from newfound love into stale, not quite companionship. He thinks it might be his fault. Because he knew, long before he started chasing Sam, he knew. Knew it the moment he walked into the New York offices. Even before, back in college, and, to some degree, even in high school. And it doesn't seem to matter how far he runs, it always catches up.

"Morning, Martin. Sam not in yet?" Vivian asks and Martin shakes his head to clear the memory away.

"No, she had some errands to run," Martin replies, feeling as though they've had this conversation a million times.

And they have. Every morning for the past three years and Vivian never stops asking. Never stops giving him that look, half pity and half accusation bleeding together until Martin can't tell one from the other. And what he needs is a coffee, strong and bitter and maybe then he'll be able to function. Maybe then he'll stop shifting in his seat, stop remembering the feel of some nameless stranger pressed inside him.

"I'm going to grab a coffee, can I get you anything?" Martin offers, standing a little too quickly and Vivian's expression shifts to concern.

"No, I'm good. Are you all right?" Vivian questions, still sounding like a mother hen and obviously a position of authority hasn't changed her in the least.

"I went running last night, still a little stiff," Martin replies, not waiting for a response before turning on his heel and walking toward the break room.

The coffee is weak, a dull brown colour and he considers making a new pot. Decides against it and he's filling his cup to the brim before he can reason whether or not he wants sugar today. No, he thinks, but then changes his mind and grabs a package from the basket in front of the stir sticks and dumps the contents into his mug.

Coffee in hand, he heads back to his desk, back to an endless day and he sometimes thinks he's stuck in some continual time loop. Repeating the same day over and over again and he won't be free until he dies. He's starting to understand why people commit suicide. And that makes him laugh, just under his breath but then the elevators doors open, Sam filling his vision and it's no longer funny.

She hasn't changed, much, but he thinks her hair might be a little lighter, her eyes a little darker. She's frowning, but she always frowns and Martin can't remember the last time he saw her smile. He thinks it might have been last month, when Jack popped in for a surprise visit and regaled her with tales from the windy city. She'd been happy that day.

"Morning," Sam comments, nodding in his direction like he's just a colleague and not her husband.

His own nod is the epitome of professionalism.

~*~

He's paired with Vivian today, searching for a missing elderly woman. He hates these cases, because he knows, knows the woman likely wandered away from her home and probably doesn't even know she's missing. Probably wouldn't care if she did and they always find them half alive and terrified. It makes Martin wonder who will take care of him when he's too old to do it himself.

"Martin, call Sam and Richard and have them head over to Mrs. Stewart's physician, see if he knows anything that might be able to help us," Vivian orders, pulling into a parking space and cutting the engine.

And Martin calls, getting Richard instead of Sam but he doesn't complain. Talking to Sam on the phone is strange, somehow surreal and he'll take the rookie over his wife any day. He's not certain if that makes him pathetic or just an asshole.

He fills them in as quickly as possible, glancing sideways at Vivian and she's still shooting him odd looks like he has an open wound she wants to bandage. Sometimes Vivian frightens him. He thinks maybe it's because she knows far more than she lets on and sudden Martin thinks she might know all his darkest secrets. He shudders a bit at that before pocketing his cell phone, Richard's voice still echoing through the line.

He wonders if Sam's sleeping with him.

Probably not but it doesn't stop him from picturing it. Doesn't stop the slight feeling of nausea when he realizes he probably wouldn't care. Isn't really capable of caring because caring would make him a hypocrite and he doesn't want to go there. He closes his eyes for a moment before pushing the thought aside and following Vivian into the building.

They'll spend the rest of the day piecing the missing woman's life together. And in the end, they'll have all the pieces of the puzzle and a perfect picture will lead them to her. He doesn't remember when this job got predictable.

~*~

His open window does nothing to cool the interior of the car.

He's half tempted to turn on the air-conditioning, but they've been stuck in traffic for what seems like hours and the last thing he needs is the car overheating and leaving them stranded. And there are far too many people in New York; cars stretching as far as the eye can see in a never-ending river of chrome and steel.

He flips on the radio, searches through the stations until he finds the traffic report. He cringes at the too chipper voice filtering through his speakers, merrily reporting the three-car pile up ahead and the broken watermain on Amsterdam. And this is ridiculous, because they're six blocks from Clara Stewart's daughter's house and at this rate they'll never get there.

"Maybe we should just park and walk," Martin suggests, glancing at Vivian out of the corner of his eye.

"That would require moving the car, and I don't think that's possible," Vivian replies, sweat beading on her brow and Martin's half afraid they might succumb to heatstroke.

"Can't we just pull out our light, this is technically an emergency. If she's out in this heat…" Martin trails off, not really wanting to voice the thought.

"Okay," Vivian concedes, shifting against the sticky leather of the seats and Martin flinches at the sound.

Martin reaches into the backseat, pulling out the small red light and placing it on the roof of the car. Even with the light flashing, it still takes an eternity to inch their way to the curb and park. They earn several glares and even more curses in the process.

Walking is no better; pedestrians milling out onto the street to gawk at the day's latest headline and it takes them twice as long as it should. It's hot, sticky and damp and by the time they make it to their destination, there's a trail of sweat running down Martin's back and he's lightheaded from dehydration. Remembering to drink water doesn't happen when someone's missing.

He lets Vivian do the talking, sitting back and listening, filing away details and most of them are useless. Still, there's always that one so Martin jots down names and locations, cross references everything they've found on the off chance that something might connect and lead them to their missing person.

He's got it down to a science, so much so he thinks he might be able to do it in his sleep. Except he doesn't sleep, much, only a few hours each morning before the sun rises, enough to get him through the next day and keep him from having to make small talk. And Sam still likes to talk; still talks in her sleep and he long ago gave up listening to her. He wonders whose name he mumbles in his sleep. Certainly not hers.

It bothered him at first, but somewhere along the way he managed to convince himself it didn't mean anything. Convince himself that she chose him, and that was all that mattered in the end. He doesn't believe it anymore, but he doesn't blame her. He knew, he's always known and, if anything, it's his own fault for thinking he could change that. Because he can't, no more than he can change who he is and maybe they're both to blame.

He stands to follow Vivian from the room, not even realizing the conversation has ended or that they've gotten everything they need. Blames it on the heat and lack of sleep but he knows that's only part of the problem. Fortunately Vivian doesn't call him on it, content to muse about theories as they begin the long trek back to their car and the waiting traffic jam.

~*~

The morning's been a complete waste, the timeline no closer to being complete than it was when Vivian first traced the thin black line. The woman's picture doesn't quite look real, like a photograph of a painting, or a painting of a photograph, he can't really tell. Vivian's off chasing another lead with Richard, leaving him and Sam alone in the office to follow up on phone leads and run bank records.

There was a time when he actually looked forward to working with Sam. Almost as much as he liked working with Danny, but Danny's gone and working with Sam leaves him tired and frustrated. They don't communicate here anymore than they do in their off time and Martin's only consolation is that Vivian refuses to send them into the field together.

He complained about it at first, usually to Danny, until Danny told him in no uncertain terms to stop. And maybe that was the first clue because in the end their friendship became strained, tense and awkward and then, just like that, Danny left. Didn't warn anyone or mention it until the day he left and Martin's still not certain what happened.

Chalks it up to another failed friendship and Martin seems incredibly talented at destroying people's lives. And he still doesn't know when he became so self involved. It probably had nothing to do with him, but no matter how many times he tells himself that, he can't quite convince himself it's true. And maybe it's because Sam barely speaks to him, and Jack only comes to visit Sam, and Vivian still looks at him like he's the son that disappointed her, and Danny's never once called.

"I think I might have something here," Sam states, interrupting Martin's thoughts and he thinks she sounds tired.

"Yeah?" Martin asks, not really interested but it is part of the process so he moves over to sit on the edge of Sam's desk, body blocking Jack's picture and he swears Sam scowls.

It's gone just as quick, disappearing behind a mask of sculpted marble and Sam points at her computer screen.

"She's made consecutive withdrawals of one-thousand dollars every week for the past five weeks. For an elderly woman, that's a little strange," Sam explains, glancing just over Martin's shoulder and Martin finds himself shifting out of her space.

"Very strange, so what are you thinking, televangelist, bingo addict?" Martin prompts, already moving to the white board to record the new information.

"Maybe, I'll call Viv and let her know," Sam replies, pulling out her cell and Martin blocks out the conversation.

He continues to stare at the board, lines and words blurring together until he's seeing double. Still, he manages to uncap a pen and record the times and dates of the transactions. And they might not mean anything, but they might mean everything and so down they go, alongside her last hair appointment and her morning doctor's visit.

It's sad really, when he thinks about it, someone's entire existence summarized in key points and intervals. Because they know her habits, but they don't know her, and regardless of how many lines they end with, they'll never truly know who they were looking for.

Sam finishes her conversation with Vivian, hanging up the phone and clearing her throat until Martin looks up.

"Vivian and Richard are on their way back, they'll be here in about twenty minutes," Sam informs him and Martin nods.

Turns back to the board and he hates waiting. Never really knows what to say and the silence between them is almost oppressive.

~*~

They find Clara Stewart at eight-fifteen that evening, wandering the halls of a deserted mall, searching for a shoe store. She's not quite lucid, very dehydrated and a complete pain in the ass. Martin still has perfect denture shaped teeth marks on his forearm from where she bit him. Not that it matters, he has bite marks on his back and shoulders too, these just make him feel a little more balanced.

Sam's gone by the time he finishes his paperwork, the office dark and even Vivian's lights are off. His cell phone rings just as he's cleaning up, the hum of his computer disappearing as it powers down. He answers after four rings. Sam doesn't sound impressed.

"You forgot the milk," she tells him, and Martin rolls his eyes.

"I'm on my way home now, I'll pick some up," he replies, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his neck as he slips into his suit jacket.

"We need bread too, and instant coffee," Sam continues and Martin still doesn't know how she drinks the stuff.

"Anything else?" Martin asks, tone polite and he feels like an errand boy.

"No, I have plans tonight, so I probably won't be home when you get here," Sam replies and Martin doesn't ask where she's going.

Nods instead, even though Sam can't see him, and by the time he makes it to the elevator, his phone is tucked back into his pocket, set on vibrate but he knows she won't call again. In fact, he probably won't see her until tomorrow when he's back at his desk, staring at the face of their next case and trying to remember why he bothers in the first place.

The drive is fairly quick, given the late hour, and by the time he pulls into their driveway, it's late enough to head straight to bed. He takes his time putting away the groceries instead, placing the milk next to the half finished jug of orange juice in the fridge and the instant coffee beside the kettle on the counter. The kitchen smells faintly of cigarette smoke and he notes a half finished Virginia Slim in the ashtray by the screen door.

Sam never smokes in front of him, at least, not when she's sober. He's seen her at parties, at their reception, wine glass in one hand and a long, slender cigarette in the other. She tasted like ash on their wedding night. He's asked her to quit, but she never does, always smoking in the house when he's not home. He's never really home.

It bothers him though; more than he lets on, and he slides open a window before heading upstairs. Slips out of his suit and he's pulling on jeans before he even realizes he doesn't intend to stay. And why should he? Sam won't be home for hours and the house tastes empty and stale. Besides, the silence is starting to get to him and the itch is back.

He considers putting on running shoes and jogging around the block. He thinks it might be slightly more productive and technically, he's been jogging for months now. At least, as far as Sam thinks, but he doesn't think he could climb a flight of stairs without getting winded. Blames that on exposure to second hand smoke and he almost believes the excuse.

It's still muggy and damp when he locks the door behind him and heads to his car.

~*~

The music is deafening and he hates this place. Hates himself for coming here but he can't find the will to stop. And it was really just dumb luck that he found it the first time. A random case that brought them into the seedy underground of Manhattan and, at the time, he wanted nothing more than to interview the patrons and leave. Now, it's become almost a second home.

He ignores the dance floor, because he doesn't dance, at least, not unless he's forced to. Ignores the bar and heads toward the back room. And the music's still pounding in his skull, but it's not as harsh as it was and in the dim light he can just make out the faces of people he'd rather not know. People he doesn't need to know but it doesn't stop him from making eye contact with a tall, slender Latino.

And he won't think about the next twenty minutes. Won't think about any of this until he's pulling into the parking lot at his gym, using his key card to gain entry to building and it seems ridiculous to spend hundreds of dollars a year on a membership when he's never once done anything there but shower.


	2. Chapter 2

It's well past one in the morning by the time Sam gets home.

He hears her car long before she opens the door and Martin tenses from his side of the bed, forcing himself to take several deep breaths until he relaxes. He's not certain why he's nervous, but he thinks it might be because he only just got out of the shower; his hair still slightly damp and a wet towel hanging over the shower curtain.

He listens to the back door slide open and assumes Sam's smoking. He can't remember the last time she smoked while he was home, but it gives him more time so he stretches and shifts until he finds a comfortable position on the mattress. And this won't be the first time he's feigned sleep. He's certain it won't be the last, but he still doesn't know why he feels the need to pretend. And maybe it's because he should be expected to ask her where she was. But he doesn't want to know, and more importantly, he doesn’t want Sam to ask what he did with his night.

He wonders if all marriages end up this way, or if it's only theirs. Wonders if he would have been better off marrying one of the countless women his mother tried to set him up with. He'd probably be living in Washington by now if he had, working out of the D.C. head offices and living in one of the city's sprawling suburbs.

He might even have kids by now. And that was what he was supposed to do, continue the family line and carry on the Fitzgerald name. His parents still call and ask about the potential of grandchildren. He doesn't tell them Sam's on the pill. He's not even supposed to know. But he's seen them, stashed away under the bathroom sink and he still can't figure out why she needs them, or if she's even still using them. Not that it matters.

He can't remember the last time they had sex. Christmas maybe, but he'd been drunk on too many glasses of spiked eggnog and all he remembers is waking up the next morning on the bathroom floor. It was early when Sam kicked him out to shower for work. He called in sick.

A creak on the stairs warns him of Sam's presence and Martin closes his eyes, breathing deep and Sam doesn't say anything as she crawls into bed beside him, the sickening scent of cigarette smoke rolling off her in waves. She turns so that their backs are facing one another and Martin thinks they could fit another person into the space between them. He doesn't complain.

~*~

Sam's gone by the time he wakes up. He pads downstairs to make coffee and there's a note on the kitchen table. Sam's sprawling handwriting telling him she's gone in early and that's a first. Because Martin's up two hours before they need to be in and Sam's never early. At least, not anymore -he can't remember if she was ever early before they got married.

Two coffees and a shower later, Martin's fighting traffic across the bridge, heading deeper into the city and the morning radio weather report calls for muggy heat. He hates New York sometimes. Hates it in the winter when everything is mute grey and dirty slush. Hates it in the summer when he can practically see the heat radiating off the surrounding buildings.

He thinks he could handle one extreme, but there's something unsettling about experiencing both and he wonders if this is why Danny moved to Florida. Except it's probably hotter down there, muggier too and Martin's not sure he could handle Miami's weather any better than he handles New York's. Seattle was nice, cool and dry, except when it was raining. It was always raining. He misses the rain.

Sam's not at her desk when he finally makes it into work and when he scans the office, she's nowhere to be found. He decides against searching, busying himself by making more coffee and sorting through the mail in his inbox. And he's not sure what he's expecting, but everyday he feels the slight surge of disappointment at finding only office memos and the occasional thank you from families they've helped.

He doesn't want their thanks, doesn't think he deserves it because he's really only just doing his job. Going through the motions, moving from case to case and he used to love coming into work everyday. Now it's a paycheck, nothing more. He misses being obsessed with his job; now when he stays, it's only to avoid going home.

But the day's only started and Martin doesn't need to worry about going home. Only making it through the day and it hasn't even started yet. He glances up at the clock and right on cue, Vivian's standing beside him.

"Morning, Martin. Sam not in yet?" Vivian asks and Martin shifts to make eye contact over his shoulder.

"No, she had some errands to run," he replies, and it's not the truth, but it's never the truth.

And Vivian nods, like she wasn't expecting any other answer and why should she? He's given the same one for longer than he can remember and when the elevator doors open, he knows it's Sam even before he glances over.

He's half tempted to ask what took her so long, but the words die on his tongue as Vivian calls them to the conference table. He takes the seat at Vivian's right, sitting kitty-corner from Sam and directly across from Richard. He still doesn't like the newest member of the team, even though Richard's been here for well over a year. Still, there's something that doesn't quite sit right and Martin thinks it might be because Richard reminds him of a younger version of his father. Hell, Martin's almost certain Richard's the son Victor always wanted.

"Jose Cortes, twenty-six, missing eight hours," Vivian states and Martin forces his eyes up to the white board.

Freezes the second he sees the picture and this is not happening because he knows their missing person. Not well, and he never asked his name, but enough to know that he was probably the last person to see Jose before his disappearance.

"According to his mother, he came home late last night, she asked him to check outside after she heard a suspicious noise, he never came back inside," Vivian continues, still glancing at her notes and the blood drains from Martin's face.

"Last night? And she only called it in this morning?" Sam interrupts, frowning slightly and Martin's fairly certain he's going to be sick.

"She called the police last night, but they have a twenty-four hour policy. We're being called in because they found a bloody knife on the scene," Vivian explains, pinning a crime scene photo of the knife beside Jose's picture.

"So there's the possibility we're looking for a body?" Richard asks, and Martin doesn't bother excusing himself from the table.

Practically runs to the bathroom and the stall door is still open when he falls to his knees and vomits his morning coffee. Doesn't stop until he's dry heaving, his chest constricting with pain and he doesn't hear the door open behind him. Doesn't even realize he's not alone until Vivian clears her throat and this is officially the worst day of his life.

"Martin? Are you all right?" Vivian asks and he resists the urge to ask what she's doing in the men's room.

"Fine. Probably just something I ate, expired milk in my coffee or something," Martin replies, struggling to his feet and crossing the room to the sinks.

And Vivian's still frowning at him, looking like she might just send him home and Martin almost hopes she does. Except she doesn't say anything and Martin rinses his mouth out with hot tap water. It does nothing to eliminate the residual hint of bile on his tongue.

"Sorry about that," he continues, drying his face with coarse paper towel and smiling reassuringly.

"Do you need to go home?" Vivian asks, blocking the path to the door and Martin has to fight not to push past her.

"No, I'm good," Martin replies and he's not. Nowhere near good but he's not about to say anything that might bring up awkward questions.

"Okay, take a minute, and then come join us for the rest of the briefing," Vivian orders and Martin waits until she leaves the room to turn back to the sink.

Runs the water hotter this time, splashing his face until his eyes burn from the chlorine. Hazards a glance in the mirror and there's still no colour in his cheeks; dark circles under his eyes and maybe he should have taken up Vivian's offer to go home. Shakes his head at that, taking a steadying breath before exiting the bathroom and heading back to the conference table.

~*~

Vivian pairs him with Sam for the day. In the field and he's fairly certain she only broke her rule because she thought Sam might look out for him. Not that Sam seems to care; she hasn't once mentioned this morning's incident and Martin's starting to think she's never going to. And she probably won't, at least, not now. She has a tendency to ask about things months later, long after Martin's forgotten about them and he's not really sure why.

It's been a while since he's worked with Sam and he'd forgotten she was all business in the field. Not that he's complaining; focusing on the case gives him something to think about and following leads is preferable to staring at the eyes of a man he spent the night fucking. A man whose name he didn't know until this morning. A man whose name he never wanted to know.

Sam's still interviewing the mother and Martin tries hard not to glance around the room. He knows he needs to, it's his job after all, but he doesn't want to know where Jose lives. Doesn't want to know what his mother looks like or that he was a straight A student in high school. And he certainly doesn't want to drink the coffee that's sitting in front of him. Not when he's stomach's still rolling; a mass of nerves and nausea and he's half afraid he's going to end up head first in Mrs. Cortes' toilet.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cortes, we'll let you know if we find anything," Sam says, her tone reassuring and Martin can't remember the last time he heard her comforting someone.

He nods on the way out, hoping he looks more sure than he feels and when Mrs. Cortes smiles, he's forced to swallow another mouthful of bile. The front yard is still crawling with cops; yellow tape surrounding the backyard where they found the knife and Martin has a feeling the case won't end well. It bothers him less than it should and he finds himself shivering despite the late morning heat.

"I'm driving," Sam announces, holding out her hand for the keys and Martin hands them off without argument.

Climbs into the passenger seat and the drive back to the office is made in silence.

~*~

The sun disappears behind towering buildings and they still haven't found their missing person. They’ve chased more leads than Martin can count and now he's stuck sorting through Jose's emails and AIM logs while Sam and Vivian run down a lead at the club. And he knew they'd find it eventually, and it probably would have saved them time if he'd just told them upfront. Except telling them would have required explaining why he knew and, for the first time in his life, Martin put his own needs over the safety of another human being.

And he hates himself for that, hates who he's become and the nausea he's been fighting all day reappears. He swallows hard, shifting in his seat and praying no one mentions him. He never used his name, never spoke to anyone but all it would take is a description and someone would piece it together. And it's ridiculous, because Jose obviously left the club and arrived home. Besides, Martin wasn't there long enough to know anything that might help them.

He's still fighting against the urge to throw up when his cell phone rings. Vivian's on the other end of the line, instructing him to get Richard and meet them in Harlem. Right back where they started and he has a feeling they won't have to go far to give Jose's mother the bad news. He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, shouldering into his suit jacket and calling Richard from across the room.

He lets Richard drive, closing his eyes against the rocking of the car as they weave in and out of traffic. Straight through downtown until office buildings give way to apartments and when he opens his eyes, they're parking next to Sam and Vivian's fleet sedan. He doesn't think as he climbs out of the car and joins them next to the dumpster.

"That our guy?" Richard asks and Martin bites his tongue to keep from answering.

"Yeah, we have his brother in custody. He was with the body, confessed the second we got here," Vivian explains, shaking her head and Martin does his best to avoid looking at the body.

And Martin shouldn't be relieved, but he is. Because a confession means no investigation, and no investigation means no evidence. And no evidence means they'll never find a trail back to him. And he still doesn't know when he became so selfish.

~*~

He can hear the soft click-click of the keyboard from the study. He's not sure what Sam's doing, but she's been locked away all night and it's driving Martin crazy.

The worst part, he thinks, is that it's not that he wants to spend time with her, but rather, that he wants the house to himself. Because it's been six days since they found Jose Cortes lying in a dumpster. Six days and, except to go to work, Martin hasn't left the house. Hasn't left the couch and it's starting to drive him insane.

The television is muted; blue light flickering around the room and he long ago gave up trying to follow the story. And it's kind of hard to follow the story without sound, but there's something comforting about the movement of random images just outside his peripheral vision. He almost wishes he could concentrate on them but the wall is far more appealing. He's been staring at the same spot all night.

He thinks, maybe, he's trying to piece it all together. Trying to figure out why, even now, he wants to leave. Wants to get into his car and drive into the city. Wants it until he aches from it, his body humming with unspent energy and the only thing stopping him is the cold, lifeless eyes of a man whose name he was forced to learn.

He still remembers the first, a roommate in college and he still blushes to think about how old he'd been when he first lost his virginity. Still remembers the horror of the next morning and the request he'd put in for a new room. Still remembers hitting on every woman he came across, and the dull, empty feeling he was left with when he actually managed to convince one of them to go home with him.

There'd been other indiscretions; other encounters that left him feeling guilty but never empty. And he still feels it, that pull that never really goes away. He thought Sam might change that, and then maybe he could lead a normal life, but he's learning nothing is ever easy and maybe this is a sign he's been going about his life wrong.

It still doesn't stop him from settling a little further into the couch, cringing at the perpetual sound of Sam typing and the walls seem to shift a little closer. And what he should do is go to bed, sleep away the night but the sun's only just set and he's not tired. More awake than he's ever been and he contemplates painting the walls something other than burnt red they are now.

White is a nice colour.

~*~

Vivian's lights are on when he gets in, her door closed and the shades drawn. He ignores it, sinking into his chair and flipping on the computer. For a moment, he's overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu, like he's done this a thousand times and maybe he has. He feels like he's just going through the motions, playing out the same day on repeat and even the thought seems familiar.

It's still early when the elevator doors open, Sam waltzing into the office and Martin's eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Really early and he finds himself frowning, shifting a little to look over his shoulder and Sam smiles. And that alone should tell him something's wrong but before he can reason out what it is, Vivian's door opens.

And now it all makes sense, because he recognizes the man standing in Vivian's doorway and obviously Sam knew he was coming. He can't quite stop himself from rolling his eyes as Sam feigns surprise, crossing the room to greet Jack in the hallway and Martin turns back to his computer. Back to the same emails he's read every morning since he started in Missing Persons.

He thinks maybe it should bother him, but it doesn't. If anything it only leaves him feeling relieved, his guilt somehow lightened. He's certain it's flawed logic, but he finds himself relaxing for the first time in days, sinking a little lower into his chair and wondering if maybe this was all destined. Not that he believes in destiny, but he's not naïve enough to ignore the obvious. He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't hear Jack approaching Martin's desk.

"Martin, long time no see," Jack states, his tone more formal than Martin ever remembers hearing.

"Hi, how's it going?" Martin asks, remaining seated and spinning around in his chair to face Jack.

"Can't complain. I saw Danny at a conference last week, he wanted me to say hi," Jack continues and Martin's breath catches in the back of his throat.

For a moment, he doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know what to say and it takes him a minute to realize Jack's frowning at him.

"Oh. Well, if you see him again, tell him I said thanks," Martin replies, wincing at just how pathetic he sounds.

Jack nods, not bothering to say goodbye before he's heading back to Vivian's office. Martin watches him go, noticing Sam sitting on Vivian's couch as the door closes. He's too preoccupied by Jack's message to care.

It's the first time he's heard from Danny since Danny left, even if it's only indirectly, and he wonders what it means. Wonders if perhaps this is Danny's way of reestablishing contact. Except that doesn't make sense, because Danny made it clear that he didn't want ties to his old life, and even though Martin never really understood why, he knew Danny well enough not to question it.

Now he's not certain what to think and Jack's message continues to play on repeat in his head. Like some piece of a larger puzzle that he just can't reason out and he only hopes they get a case soon. Otherwise, he might not last out the day.


	3. Chapter 3

He's halfway home when he panics. Something unnamed forcing him to pull over to the side of the road. He cuts the engine and just sits there, staring at the front windshield at a neighborhood he's driven past more times than he can count. He laughs a little bit of that, not really caring if the people walking past him outside think he's crazy. Because it seems everything he does is just a repeat of the previous day. And the previous day until it all blends together into something that resembles a life.

Sam spent the better part of the morning locked away with Jack. Spent the better part of the afternoon trailing leads in their latest case and, even though it ended in the morgue, she never once stopped smiling. Not until they were cleaning off the white board, packing up their things and heading home and only then did Sam's frown reappear. Settling onto her features like a familiar friend and Martin hates himself for thinking it looked like it belonged.

And maybe it's because he's seen it so often that anything else seems unnatural. Anti-Sam, and once again he finds himself laughing. Shaking his head and an elderly woman on the sidewalk next to his car gives him a dirty look. It only makes Martin laugh that much harder.

What he should do is put the car in drive and go home. Maybe actually talk to Sam for once but the solution seems too easy so climbs out, locking the car behind him and heading into the diner on the corner that he knows by sight but has never stepped foot in.

The light is too bright, too harsh and he blinks for a moment before approaching the counter, glancing at the display of unnatural looking pastries and sandwiches. He's not hungry, so he orders only a coffee, paying for it with loose change and the girl behind the counter smiles at him. Batting her eyelashes like it might actually attract his attention and Martin fights to keep from breaking out into laughter again. Nods his thanks instead and chooses a table near the back of the room.

The place is practically empty. There's a young couple occupying the front booth, too preoccupied with one another to notice anything around them. A middle-aged cop sitting against the front counter, stirring his coffee absently while reading yesterday's paper. A bus boy in his mid-twenties cleaning tables near the front and Martin's body twitches as he watches strong back muscles flex under a too thin t-shirt.

He tears his eyes away, glancing down to stare at his coffee and he can see his reflection on the dark black surface. It disappears in a ripple and he glances back up to find the bus boy cleaning the table across from him. Martin leaves his coffee untouched and practically runs out of the diner.

Doesn't stop until he's safely in his car, heading toward Queens and home and it's the last place he wants to be.

~*~

Sam's not home, nowhere to be found and Martin wonders if he'd even realize it if she went missing. He can almost see it now, showing up at work the next day with Sam's picture on the white board and him still completely clueless. He's not certain who would call it in. Jack maybe.

He's still antsy, still pacing like some sort of caged animal and, before he can rationalize what he's doing, he's logging into Sam's computer. He takes a moment to sort through files --most of them cases and reports. He doesn't go so far as to search through her email, in truth he doesn't really care who she spends her time talking to.

Instead he logs in remotely to the FBI mainframe, not really knowing what he's looking for until his fingers type in Danny's name. He knows, technically, he's abusing the system, looking up private information that he really has no business seeing, but it doesn't stop him from bringing up Danny's file. Doesn't stop him from printing it out, holding the paper in shaking hands and staring at the address like it holds the key to everything he's looking for.

And it's ridiculous, because he got over his crush on Danny years ago. Long before he started chasing Sam. Long before Danny left and it he can't quite figure out why he cares. Except Danny warned him about marrying Sam and maybe he knew something Martin didn't. Or maybe he just knew it would all end this way and Martin can't help but wonder how. Can't help but wonder if, even now, Danny might hold the answer. Might be able to tell Martin exactly what Martin's supposed to do.

And maybe that's why Danny passed on a message through Jack. Maybe he still knows. Or maybe Martin's just officially lost his mind and before he can stop himself, he's crumpling up the page and tossing it into the trash. Powering down Sam's computer and heading back out into the living room.

Back to the couch and he's not certain he can spend another night staring at the walls. Hunger gnaws at his stomach but he has no interest in food. Can't even remember the last time he ate something substantial and he's not even aware of standing until he's staring at the back of the front door. Key shaking in his hand but he locks it all the same and heads to his car.

Pulls out of the driveway and he feels like he's driving in slow motion, watching his house disappear in still frame. He doesn't relax until he's reached the tunnel into Manhattan. Even then the landscape seems different, foreign and, even though he knows this route, he feels like he's seeing it for the first time.

Buildings passing in a surreal blur and he can't remember if he stopped for any of the red lights. Can't remember where he's going until he's pulling into a familiar alley and even it looks strange, like the inkling of a memory, or a word resting on the tip of his tongue. Something he knows but can't quite connect.

The club is dark, practically empty but it’s still early. There's still light in the sky and he doesn't recognize any of the patrons. Older men, his age and he feels slightly out of place. It doesn't stop him from heading into the back room, dead eyes mocking him from the depths of his memory.

~*~

He hasn't slept, spending the better part of the night tossing and turning until he finally gave up and left the icy comfort of the bed.

He feels it today, exhaustion settling into his body until he can barely keep his eyes open; barely force himself forward or off the elevator and into the office. Vivian's standing by the white board, a picture already pinned in the corner and Martin has a feeling it's going to be a long day.

He ignores his desk, moving to the conference table instead and taking a seat directly beside Vivian's empty chair. He still hasn't had a coffee and his hands twitch with the need to hold something. Anything, but Vivian's wearing her game face and he's fairly certain they don't have time.

"Morning, Martin," Vivian states, like she's only just noticed him. "Richard should be in any moment now, how's Sam?" she continues, not pausing as she draws out the skeleton of the time line.

"She had some errands to run," Martin replies automatically.

And that causes Vivian to pause, pen stilling mid-stroke and she turns to glance at Martin over her shoulder.

"She called in sick," Vivian explains, frowning slightly and Martin can't help but squirm under her scrutiny.

"Right, sorry. It's just a touch of the flu, I'm sure she'll be fine in a couple of days," Martin backpedals, and for all he knows, it's the truth.

Except he doesn't know, because Sam was still asleep when he left and he spent most of the night staring at the dead static of the television set from his place on the couch. Vivian's still staring at him and Martin braces himself for the inevitable questions. They don't come, and Martin sends up silent thanks for Richard's arrival and Vivian's distraction.

And then it's all business, Martin's slip forgotten and it bothers him that he's not worried about Sam. Because he should be, but she never said anything to him so maybe it's not his place. Not his concern and he wonders if that makes him a bad person as well as a bad husband.

"Lucy Wright, forty-three, missing sixteen hours. She was last seen yesterday afternoon. She left work early to run some errands and never made it home. Martin, I want you and Richard to head over and interview her husband," Vivian begins the moment Richard's seated.

And Martin hates working with Richard. Hates the constant reminder that the team has been forever altered. He should be used to it by now, but he's not, and he can't help but blame the other man for Danny's absence. It's ridiculous, when he thinks about it, but it doesn't stop him from groaning inwardly, fighting against the urge to argue before pushing back his chair and standing. He doesn't check to see if Richard's following as he makes his way to the elevators.

~*~

This, he thinks, is what a marriage is supposed to be. Because Lucy's husband is broken up, completely lost and Martin half expects to have to sedate the man. Their children are older, understanding the situation but still too new to the world to deal with it. Martin watches as they bond together, finding comfort and strength in one another and he's once again confronted with the knowledge that he will never have this. Never know this kind of love and unconditional support.

"Thank you, Mr. Wright. I'm going to have an agent man your phone, this could be a ransom situation, in which case, I want you to follow Agent Davidson's instructions," Martin explains, slipping his notebook into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Mr. Wright nods from behind tear blurred eyes, pulling his son a little closer. Martin glances away as he stands a little too fast and it's enough to make the room spin. He pushes aside the sudden wave of dizziness and heads out the door, making a mental note to eat something solid when they get a chance. He almost makes it to the car before Richard catches up, green excitement rolling off him in waves and Martin wonders if he'll ever stop finding new cases exciting.

"So, what do you think? You think he's lying?" Richard asks and Martin rolls his eyes.

"No, I think he's going through the most difficult thing he's ever experienced and maybe we should show a little more compassion," Martin replies, not waiting for a response before climbing into the car and he hates that Richard still can't read him.

Then again, the only person he knew who could is gone.

"That's not exactly objective," Richard replies as he slides into the passenger seat and Martin wonders if he sleeps with a handbook under his pillow.

"It is objective. Everything you need to know about someone is written in their eyes, he had nothing to do with his wife's disappearance," Martin replies, glaring daggers and, if Richard notices, he doesn't say anything.

Doesn't stop looking any less excited and, for the first time in longer than he can remember, Martin wishes he was working with Sam. At least she knows how to do her job and is content to work the day out without making idle conversation or speculating about a case.

~*~

It's strange being the only person in the office. Quiet and still, like the calm before the storm but if it means not having to listen to Richard's half-baked theories, Martin will gladly work in solitude. Besides, he's still tired and sorting through Lucy's bank records is far preferable to pounding pavement.

He hasn't called Sam, even though part of him thinks he should. The truth is he doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know if she even wants to hear from him and, even if she did, he's not certain he can handle a conversation with her right now. It's never struck him so forcibly, the knowledge of what could be. What should be and now he knows not all marriages end up like his.

They still haven't gotten anywhere in Lucy's case. Haven't found any indication of an intentional abduction or even something to suggest that maybe she just walked away. And it bothers him, and even though he's trained not to get too close to cases, part of him thinks that maybe, if he can find her, he can save himself. Save a perfect fairy-tale marriage and then maybe there will be hope for him. Not that it ever works out, but it doesn't stop him wishing it could.

He's so preoccupied by the records in front of him, the blur of numbers that meld together into seeming nonsense, that he doesn't hear his cell until the third ring. He finds himself holding his breath as he answers it, not really wanting to hear what the person on the other side of the line has to say. It doesn't stop him from flipping it open, hitting talk and mumbling his name into the receiver.

"Martin, it's Vivian, we found her car. It was in the city impound lot, I'm working on getting the records but it's pretty obvious it's been involved in a collision. I need you to start calling hospitals and see if any of them have admitted an unidentified woman matching Lucy's description," Vivian states, and Martin can hear the din of traffic in the background.

"I'm on it," Martin replies, pulling out the phone book even before Vivian hangs up.

~*~

He feels like he's watching a movie, something that isn't quite real. Something staged and he watches from his place behind the glass as Lucy's family hovers over her sleeping form. The doctors still don't know if she'll wake up, or how they missed the ID in her jacket that would have allowed them to contact the family and save the taxpayers thousands of dollars.

In the end he doesn't think it matters. They've done their job, reunited a family and it may not end with a happily ever after, but it's ended. The rest is no longer his concern, no longer his problem because once they're found he doesn't need to worry about them anymore. It doesn't stop him from wondering just how different it could have all ended. Just how lucky they were to find her at all and he has to force himself to step away from the window.

He takes his time walking out into the parking lot. Vivian will expect his report, but not tonight, tonight he intends to sleep because it's a miracle he's still standing as it is. He nods his goodbyes to Vivian and Richard on the way out, climbing into his car before pulling out his cell and calling home. He can't remember the last time he called home.

The phone seems to ring endlessly, the line switching over to their answering machine and he wonders where Sam is, if she was even really sick or if she's just turned off the phone. He doesn't leave a message, instead hanging up and tossing his cell onto the seat next to him. He's half tempted to throw it out the window.

It's still early and the traffic is bad so by the time he makes it home, he's worn and even more exhausted than he originally was. So tired he can barely keep his eyes open but he has a feeling he won't find sleep anytime soon. He's pushed past that point now, into a sort of half-dead wakefulness that'll last for hours until his body finally shuts down.

The door makes a resounding thud as he slams it shut and he doesn't bother to lock it --they moved out to Queens so they wouldn't have to lock their door. The house is quiet, almost eerie, and it feels hollow somehow. Like it did when they first bought it; void and bare and, even though nothing seems out of place, it still feels like an empty shell.

He glances at the staircase on his way to the kitchen, deciding against heading up and he imagines Sam must be sleeping --her car is parked in the driveway and her house keys are hanging by the door. It takes him a moment to finally notice the envelope on the counter. Another moment to work up the courage to open it.

He can't even feign surprise when he finally reads Sam's words. He's never actually gotten a Dear John letter before, but he knows one when he sees it and, if he wasn't so tired, he'd probably laugh. He's not sure what he was expecting, but this isn't it. Because he's not angry, upset or even relieved. Just numb, like this moment was inevitable and now that it's here, maybe he can finally rest.

She doesn't mention where she's going, or whether she'll even turn up at work on Monday, but he's fairly certain those are only small details. Inconsequential and that's what his marriage was, his life is and he doesn't think before slipping Sam's letter into the trash. Right beside an empty carton of milk and it seems almost fitting.

And now he can see the differences, small little things that are out of place and he wonders how he missed them the first time. He spends his life looking for the little things; the empty picture frames, the places on the shelves lacking dust and empty feel of a home.

He doesn't bother taking stock of what she took, she's entitled to more but he has a feeling she won't ask for anything. He sinks into the couch, leaving the television off and staring out the bay window on the far side of the room. And now he feels relieved, like all the answers are written in the sky just beyond the glass. He imagines Sam happy, smiling the way she used to and, for the first time in years, he finds himself smiling.

~*~

It's dark when he wakes up on the couch, not really remembering how he got there or even what day it is. It all comes back to him in a rush and he struggles to sit up. Pushes himself off the couch and moves into the study to stand beside Sam's computer. He stares at it for a moment, contemplating emailing Jack and telling him to take care of Sam. He has no doubt that's where she is. He decides against it, thinking it would sound too much like defeat and the last thing he feels is defeated.

Clarity hums in the back of his skull, the light of it so bright it practically blinds him. He finds himself smiling as he bends down to the waste basket to retrieve the crumpled print out he threw away what seems a lifetime ago.


	4. Chapter 4

She's been gone three days and he still hasn't called.

It seems almost foolish to carry around a piece of paper in his pocket. He's gone so far as to transfer the paper to new pockets every time he's changed but he still hasn't called. Hasn't left the house and he's sudden glad he didn't paint the walls white. Because the house is too empty as it is and he doesn't think he could handle the starkness.

He's restless, and the sense of peace he felt when he first read Sam's letter is long gone. It's not that he misses her, he knew the second he read her words that this was right, for both of them. But he's not sure where it leaves him or what he's supposed to do. He knows what he wants, but wanting is one thing, doing is something else entirely.

He wants a fresh start, a new life that doesn't involve hiding or pretending or marriages built on a lie. He wants a do over, license to start again but he's still not certain how to go about getting it. There's still twelve minutes before his alarm goes off but he finds himself climbing out of bed anyway, flicking off the alarm and slipping into his bathrobe.

Danny's address is folded neatly in the breast pocket, as is Sam's letter, slightly stained from coffee grinds and egg yolks. He's not certain why he retrieved it from the trash. Or even why he's carrying it around now, but it seems somehow right, like anything else would trivialize their time together. The sad part, he thinks, is that their time together was trivial.

He doesn't really want to go into work, but he's still not certain Sam's going to be there so there's a chance they’ve lost a team member and they'll be understaffed as it is. Still, he takes his time showering, washing away a weekends worth of dirt and sweat and wondering how he got himself into this mess to begin with.

~*~

He's not surprised to find he's the first one in, or surprised to find Sam's desk already cleared off. What does surprise him is the package on his desk, wrapped in UPS shipping paper and sealed with more tape than is really required. He sinks into his chair, picking up the package and turning it over in his hands before shaking his head and tearing past the tape.

Inside he finds another sealed envelope, accompanied by a familiar wedding ring and he doesn't need to open the second package to know it contains divorce papers. He tips the package over, letting the dull gold band fall onto the desk with a thud and there's something almost surreal about seeing it. Like it never really existed and he wonders if perhaps he just imaged the last few years of his life. He thinks it might be easier if he had.

He opens the second envelop with shaking hands, not bothering to read all the fine detail before signing his name in permanent black ink. And this makes it real; he's now officially an almost middle-aged man with a divorce behind him. He can almost see his personal ad: Divorce white male, seeks companion. The thought makes him laugh, just under his breath and he tucks the forms into the stamped envelope Sam was nice enough to supply.

It's only been three days, and he wonders exactly how long Sam's been planning this. Because three days isn't near enough time to draw up divorce papers and he's once again confronted with the knowledge that they didn't know each other. Didn't communicate or vocalize their needs and, for all he knows, this has been a long time coming.

Part of him wants to hang onto it, prolong the inevitable but he's already standing and moving to the outgoing mail slot before he can change his mind. And that brings him close to the break room so he goes in search of coffee. And he's done this every morning, but it somehow feels different. Like he's getting coffee for the first time and before he can finish adding sugar, Vivian's standing behind him, clearing her throat and he knew this was coming.

"Morning, Martin. Can I see you in my office?" Vivian requests, waiting for his nod before heading back down the hall.

Martin adds two sugars to his coffee and follows, grabbing a stir stick on the way out and he's still stirring by the time he's seated in front of Vivian's desk, the door closed behind them.

"I'm sure you know that Sam's resigned?" Vivian asks, looking slightly out of place and yet somehow sympathetic.

"Yeah, I kind of figured she might," Martin replies, taking a sip of his coffee and he feels strangely calm.

"Is everything all right between you two?" Vivian questions and Martin knows she's only asking for the sake of politeness. She knows.

"Actually, yes," Martin begins, noting Vivian's frown before continuing. "We decided things weren't working out, it's probably for the best."

"Okay. If you need someone to talk to, or there's anything I can..."

"There's not," Martin interjects, forcing a neutral expression onto his face.

For a moment, he thinks Vivian might insist. Might actually send him to the bureau shrink, but the moment passes and then she's nodding, smiling sadly and Martin stands to leave the room.

"Martin, I'm sorry," Vivian says, and Martin can only nod before pushing past the doors and heading back to his desk.

~*~

The light isn’t quite right and it takes him a moment to realize the sun is gone. Hidden behind dark clouds and it does nothing to reduce the heat. If anything it only makes it worse, or maybe he's just getting stir-crazy, spending entirely too much time trapped in the car.

"What is that?"

"What?" Martin asks, frowning at Richard and he knew this would happen. Knew he'd end up being stuck working with the younger agent and damn Sam for quitting her job over this.

"That piece of paper, you've been staring at it all morning," Richard continues, gesturing at the printout in Martin's hand and Martin blinks.

He wasn't even aware he'd taken it out, let alone that he'd been staring at it for the past few hours. He can practically feel the heat seeping into his cheeks and he shoves the paper back into his pocket before turning to glare at Richard.

"It's nothing," Martin replies, shifting a little in his seat and turning back to stare out the front windshield.

And he's always hated surveillance, but he hates it more now and at least Danny used to entertain him. Tell him amusing stories and flirt and, even though most of the time Martin didn't know how to react, it was better than sitting here listening to Richard chew his gum.

"You don't trust me, do you? Is it because of Sam?" Richard asks and Martin wants to laugh.

"Look, I'm sure you're a good agent, but if it's all the same, could we just focus on the case," Martin answers, willing something to happen, anything.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, the universe listens, the front door of the building they're watching swinging open and their suspect entering into their sight. Martin's out of the car before Richard even clues in to the situation, jogging across the street with his weapon in hand and his credentials held above his head.

These are the cases he likes, because he's known right from the start they were looking at a ransom situation. And that makes things easier, because they know where their missing woman is --all they need to do now is find a way to bring her out of the situation alive. He hears Richard in the background, only just making it across the street and by the time he reaches Martin, Martin already has their suspect in custody.

He misses bringing down a man with Danny. They made it an art.

~*~

Six hours and four interviews later, the case is closed, Paula Grier on her way to the emergency room to be treated for dehydration and Martin's cleaning off the white board. Mondays don't usually end well, and Martin can't help but wonder if this is a sign. A sign his life is finally heading in the direction he wants it to.

Once the office is clean and ready for their next case, Martin packs up his things and heads to the elevators, pulling out his cell and the crumpled paper from his pocket. He dials with shaking hand and waits out several rings. Danny's voice hits him harder than he expected, but it’s just the answering machine and he hangs up without leaving a message.

The elevator shudders to a stop and he climbs off, moving out and into the parking garage and the day still feels different. Everything new and unique and he can't remember the last time he felt that way. Can't remember the last time he climbed into his car feeling anything other than resignation. He smiles as he puts the car in drive and heads out of the garage and onto the street.

Even driving is different, like he's seeing New York for the first time. He finds himself glancing at his hands on the steering wheel, noting the flash of gold and he's not sure why he's still wearing it. Sam obviously isn't; her's is tucked in his breast pocket, next to her letter and Danny's address. What he should do is get rid of them both, throw them in the river or sell them to a pawnshop. He doesn't, instead sliding his own band off his hand and placing it in his pocket next to Sam's.

Part of him still wants to seek out the club, spend several hours in pursuit of meaningless distraction. But new guilt coils in his stomach at the thought and it doesn't make sense. Because technically he's no longer married, no longer obliged to feel guilty and he doesn't even need his gym membership anymore. Except something unnamed stops him, and before he realizes it, he's pulling into his driveway, Sam's car seeming out of place.

He's not certain why she didn't take it with her. He thinks maybe she just didn't want any ties to this life, and he doesn't blame her. Hell, he understands cutting off ties and he's tempted to sell both the cars. Alongside the house and their bed and everything else they've accumulated over the years. Rent an apartment in the city like he did before all this and he makes a mental note to call a real estate agent.

The house still feels empty, still smells slightly like stale smoke and Martin contemplates taking up smoking. And wouldn't that be ironic. Instead he heads into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards until he finds a bottle of mineral water. What he wants is wine, maybe even some scotch, but he's seen where that path leads so he pushes the temptation aside.

Water in hand, he heads into the living room, sinking into the couch before reaching for the phone and the paper in his pocket. And he only called Danny a half an hour ago, but he knows if he waits any longer, he'll chicken out, and that's the last thing he wants to do. His hands are steady as he dials this time, his breathing normal as he listens to the echo of ringing on the other line. Danny's voice still hits him, Martin's breath catching in the back of his throat but this time he resolves himself to leave a message.

"Hey, um, this is Martin. I... Jack gave me your message, and I just thought, I thought I'd touch base, say hi," Martin says, instantly regretting not scripting something to say.

It's too late now, and Martin's not about to call back and leave yet another message. Instead he hangs up the phone, willing Danny to call back. It only just occurs to him that he didn't think to leave Danny his number.

~*~

Three weeks.

Three weeks and four messages and Danny still hasn't returned his call. Three weeks and Martin's still staring at Danny's number. Running fingers over the permanent creases in the paper and trying to convince himself Danny's just busy. It only makes him feel slightly pathetic.

His house is on the market and he's still looking for an apartment, spending his evenings touring through run down buildings with leaky faucets and dingy white walls. He's starting to think he should just settle. Either that or he never should have given up his old rent controlled place uptown.

Most of his belongings are already in boxes, packed away and sealed with tape and it bothers him that he doesn't know where he's going. Not that he doesn't have time, he still needs to sell the house and wait out a close date. Still, it's almost more effort than it's worth and he's starting to think he was destined to spend the rest of his life as a renter. It doesn't take away the edge of sadness that comes with the thought of leaving his home.

Not that it was ever really his, just a place he slept and ate and the rest of the time he avoided it. He tells himself it's different now, because it is his and he has it to himself and, if he concentrates hard enough, he can almost feel welcome. Safe and comfortable but it lasts only until he finds himself staring at walls he still wants to paint.

Once again he's up before his alarm, showering in record time and even the drumming of the water against the porcelain tub sounds too loud in the otherwise stillness. The silence is even worse when he shuts off the tap and he hums while drying off and dressing in the still damp bathroom.

He considers making coffee, but he's out of coffee filters, out of a lot of things and he can't remember the last time he went grocery shopping. The very thought seems somehow pointless.

The drive into work is familiar again, so much so he's half tempted to go out of his way just to change the scenery. He doesn't, merging into a sea of traffic and beginning the long commute into the city. He thinks maybe he should look into taking the train. At the very least, it would be something different.

They haven't replaced Sam, but Martin knows they're interviewing candidates; all recent graduates from Quantico and the last thing Martin wants is another rookie to look after. Richard's bad enough and he'd give anything to work with someone experienced. Hell, even Jack would be better than their prospects. He was half tempted to tell Danny about the position on one of his many messages. He didn't, knowing Danny wouldn't be interested and the last thing Martin wants to deal with is more disappointment.

The office is too bright and Martin has to check his watch to make sure he's not late. It's ridiculous, because he left at the same time he always leaves and the commute took him no longer than it usually does. Unless his watch is wrong, he's twenty minutes early, slightly later than he usually is, but not enough for him to be the last one in.

Vivian's office is closed, light spilling out from beneath the blinds and Richard is nowhere to be found. It gives Martin pause and he wonders if maybe he's just imagining things. It wouldn't be the first time and Martin dismisses the thought as he sinks into his chair, powering on his computer and he contemplates getting coffee. He can't help but wonder when his life became so mundane.

He leaves the log in screen up, standing with aching joints and he really needs to start sleeping, either that or self medicating and he has a feeling the first alternative is the better solution. It doesn't stop him from wondering just how hard it would be to convince his doctor to prescribe him sleeping pills.

He's halfway across the room when Vivian's door open, her voice drifting through the empty office and it's the voice that responds that gives him pause. Halts him in his tracks and he finds himself frozen, staring at the figure in Vivian's doorway and seeing Danny knocks the wind out of him. So much so, for a moment, he's not sure what to do. And then Danny's making eye contact, expression unreadable and Martin forces himself forward. Crossing the distance in what seems like slow motion and Danny doesn't smile. Doesn't nod or acknowledge Martin's presence, just stares until Martin's knees buckle.

He's close enough to touch before he realizes Vivian's staring at him, looking slightly concerned and slightly knowing. And then she's silently excusing herself, slipping back into her office and closing the door and suddenly he's alone with Danny in the hall and he still doesn't know what to say.

"You look like shit, Martin," Danny comments, never once breaking eye contact and Martin shivers in spite of himself.

"What... what are you doing here?" Martin manages, his voice catching in the back of his throat and he's forced to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching.

Prove to himself that Danny's really here, really standing right in front of him, so close he can practically taste Danny's cologne and, God, he didn't realize quite how much he missed Danny's presence until this moment.

"I'm here for a briefing, just the day," Danny replies, still staring and Martin shifts under his scrutiny. "I heard about you and Sam, I'm sorry."

"It's for the best," Martin comments, blushing slightly and fighting against the urge to tell Danny why. "I called, I don't know if you got my messages but I..."

"I got them."

"Oh." And it's not the answer he was looking for but Danny's here and... "So what are you doing here?" Martin rephrases.

"Just thought I'd stop in, say hi," Danny replies but there's a hint of bitterness in his tone and Martin finds himself frowning.

"How long are you in town?" Martin asks, inhaling Danny's scent and something unnamed flashes in Danny's eyes.

"Just until this afternoon, actually, I should be going. It was... nice to see you again," Danny answers, looking slightly indecisive like he wants to say something more but can't find the words.

Not that Martin's doing any better, words dying on his tongue and then Danny's sighing, resignation evident in the tone, before walking away and this can't be how it ends.

"Wait."

Danny pauses, turning to glance at Martin apprehensively and Martin's moving forward before he can talk himself out of it.

"Um, just... keep in touch, okay?" Martin says, the words uncertain and, for a moment, Martin thinks Danny might actually be angry.

"Yeah, okay," Danny agrees, not waiting for a response before turning back to the elevators and all Martin can do is watch him go.

~*~

He's been cursing himself all afternoon, replaying the morning's conversation over and over again until he could recite it in his sleep. And he didn't say half the things he wanted to say. Didn't touch on half the things that needed saying and now he's never going to see Danny again and he can't help but think that it's his own damn fault.

It wouldn't be half as bad if Vivian would stop glancing at him with pity in her eyes. Or if Richard would clue in long enough to realize that Martin could care less about his sister that he seems desperate to pawn off on Martin. Or even if they had a case to keep them preoccupied, because now all he can do is think about exactly what went wrong this morning.

It's almost a relief when five o'clock rolls around, and for the first time in longer than he can remember he's leaving work at a decent time. It still strikes him as strange, because he can count the number of days they've gone without a case on one hand. And now he'll be forced to head home, maybe call a few other apartment listings in the paper and he's starting to wish he could stay at work a little longer.

Not that there's anything to do, and he's packing up and heading to his car without bothering to say goodnight. Driving through rush hour traffic and he'd forgotten how many people lived in New York. He's surprised more people don't just up and walk away. He's tempted to. Leave the city behind and then Vivian will be saddled with three rookies and maybe Martin can sleep for once.

He finally manages to get through the tunnel, fighting against the sudden influx of traffic and heading deeper into Queens. He's three blocks from home when it strikes him, some unnamed panic that makes him turn around, head toward the nearest grocery store and he needs food anyway. Food and coffee filters, but mostly, just an excuse to avoid going home.

The harsh neon light inside the store makes everything look yellow and aged. He blinks against it, picking out a rickety cart and he has to fight against it to keep it from veering to the left. It wobbles, squeaking every time he turns a corner and part of him wants to abandon it, leave the store empty-handed and pretend he can exist on fast food and the coffee at work.

He can't remember the last time he cooked for himself, or even the last time he had a home cooked meal. Probably shortly before his aunt died and he misses those family dinners --they were the only time he ever felt welcome somewhere. But they're gone, like so many things in his life, and he still needs groceries.

He weaves his way down aisles and through the produce section, not really looking at what he's throwing into his cart. Not really caring and fruit, he needs fruit, even though, he can't remember why. The apples are withered and brown, a byproduct of the too hot summer and he has to dig to find something edible. His bag is only half full when his skin prickles, the sensation of being watched causing him to glance up.

He half expects to find Danny and when Danny's nowhere to be found, he rolls his eyes at himself for being so delusional. Because Danny has better things to do than follow Martin around and, if anything, reality would have Martin stalking Danny, not the other way around.

And maybe he needs a distraction, something like the guy across the aisle, currently smiling suggestively at Martin and Martin's starting to wonder if he should have continued to wear his wedding band. It's not that he doesn't want the attention, but the light here is bright, and Martin knows picking someone up in the grocery store isn't anonymous. It doesn't stop Martin from returning his smile.


	5. Chapter 5

He's been in the shower for forty-five minutes, the hot water long gone and he still doesn't feel clean. Only guilty and used and he can't block out Danny's eyes.

Simultaneously shocked and defeated and Martin's starting to think he was only there to see Vivian. And that would explain the early hour, and his awkwardness around Martin. Part of him wants to accept Danny's reaction, put Danny out of his head, but as soon as he thinks it, he's shutting off the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist.

Pulling Danny's number out of the breast pocket of the jacket hanging on the back of the door and it's late, but it doesn't stop Martin from calling. And he knows Danny's probably just getting back to Miami, probably isn't even home yet but he's willing to leave a thousand messages if it might somehow convince Danny to call him back. He listens through three rings and when Danny picks up, Martin's carefully prepared speech flies straight out of his head.

"Hi... it's Martin," he manages, water dripping off his hair and onto the floor.

For a moment, Danny doesn't say anything and Martin thinks Danny might just hang up on him. Not that Martin would blame Danny and he finds himself absently fingering the fresh red mark on his shoulder.

"I didn't expect to hear from you so soon," Danny comments, and Martin releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Yeah, well, I kind of figured you were just humouring me when you said you'd keep in touch," Martin replies, anger coiling in his stomach and he knows he has no right to be angry, but he is.

"I was." And Martin doesn't have words for that.

Doesn't have anything but the knowledge that Danny wants nothing to do with him and he's still not really sure why. He hasn't been sure since Danny left New York and what he wants to hear, isn't necessarily the truth. He's always been very good at deluding himself.

"I guess I'll let you go then," Martin finally manages, not bothering to wait for a response before hanging up the phone.

He's still standing in his towel, still wet and the room seems somehow cold despite the temperature outside. Still, he can't find the will to move, the energy to head to his room and change or do anything beyond stare at the phone and will it to ring.

~*~

He left a light on upstairs. He can see it, just on the edge of his vision; foggy yellow light spilling down the stairs and creeping across the floor until it disappears into shadow. Otherwise the living room is dark.

He hasn't bothered getting dressed; remaining perched on the edge of the couch, staring at the phone and debating whether or not to call Danny back. Part of him wants to, but part of him is terrified Danny won't answer. Or worse still, Danny will answer.

And it's ridiculous, because Danny doesn't owe him anything and Martin finds himself standing. Moving in the direction of the stairs and he sees the light on his phone flicker before he hears it ring. He flinches at the sound before crossing the room on shaking legs, his heart racing as he reaches with still damp fingers to answer it.

"Danny, I'm sorry." Said without thought and he's sudden aware he's still only wearing a towel.

Acutely aware of the bruises marring his skin and the fact that, not two hours ago, he was fucking some nameless stranger. Picturing Danny's face the entire time and he's fairly certain it was Danny's name he whispered when he finally came.

"You have some nerve, you know that?" Danny practically curses and Martin flinches for an entirely different reason. "Three years, three fucking years and you think you can just pick up the phone and pretend we're still friends?"

There's accusation in his tone, but something else, hurt maybe, and Martin finds himself sinking back onto the couch, running fingers through wet hair and closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Whispered this time and he knows he owes Danny more.

And explanation, but he doesn't have one so an apology will have to do. Not that Danny seems willing to hear it, and maybe he's right. Maybe Martin doesn't have a right to assume. A right to call or even a right to want a way back into Danny's life.

"You're sorry, well, I guess all's forgiven then," Danny replies, his tone laced with sarcasm and Martin's suddenly overcome with a wave of anger.

Because technically it's Danny's fault they're no longer friends --Danny for leaving and Danny for cutting off contact and at least Martin's trying.

"You know, I wasn't the one who left," Martin interrupts, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

For a moment, Danny doesn't say anything. Martin can hear him breathing through the line, can almost picture him fighting for a comeback and its so Danny Martin wants to laugh. He pushes the sensation aside instead, sighing audibly and the last thing he wants to do is fight.

"You ever think maybe I left for a reason?" Danny asks, but Martin's fairly certain the question is rhetorical. It doesn't stop him from answering.

"I don't know, you never said anything," Martin replies, thinking this could all be avoided if he'd only listened to Danny the first time.

Listened to Danny when Danny told him not to marry Sam. And Danny was right about that, probably right about a lot of things but Martin's too tired to list them all. Too tired to do anything but lean back into the cushions, listen to Danny breathe and pretend they're not arguing.

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Danny finally comments, his tone slightly defeated and Martin thinks maybe he should hang up.

Try this again when there's no risk of saying anything that can't be taken back. When they've both slept and had a chance to reason out exactly what they want from one another.

"Why did you call me?" Danny asks, and it's so blunt Martin doesn't know how to respond.

"I told you, I..."

"No, the first time," Danny clarifies.

"I don't know," Martin lies, and he does. Knows exactly why he called and exactly what he was hoping for but he doubts Danny wants to hear it.

Not when they're already on such fragile ground and he's surprised Danny's still on line. He hears Danny's intake of breath, hears Danny's resigned sigh and Martin's starting to think maybe he should offer Danny the truth.

"You don't know? Or you won't tell me?" Danny presses and Martin has a feeling he's not going to take ignorance for an answer.

"Why did you leave that message with Jack?" Martin counters, avoiding Danny's question and when Danny doesn't respond, Martin knows he's won.

Feels the sharp thrill of victory but it vanishes just as quick. Replaced by awkward silence and Martin wishes he could take the words back.

"Look, it's late, and I'm tired..." Danny trails off, ending the conversation and new regret surges through Martin.

"It's okay, I'm sorry I called so late," Martin interrupts, not wanting to hear Danny's excuse.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Danny comments and Martin mumbles his agreement.

Says something similar and it's dismissal. Goodbye and he should have known better. Should have known he'd already destroyed any chance at rebuilding anything with Danny but the knowledge does nothing to ease the pressure in his chest. He thinks maybe he should look into those sleeping pills after all.

~*~

He's late getting into work and it's the first time in longer than he can remember. He blames it entirely on Danny, Danny and a sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling. There wasn't even time to make coffee this morning and Martin imagines his new coffee filters remaining forever unopened. Vivian and Richard are already sitting around the conference table, both looking at him expectantly and he tosses his things by his desk before moving to join them.

"Sorry, traffic accident," he lies and he's getting rather good at making excuses.

"Well, if you're ready to start," Vivian begins, waiting for Martin's nod before continuing. "Mike Moore, forty-eight, missing twenty-three hours, he was supposed to attend a meeting yesterday morning and never showed. No one's seen or heard from him since he left home that morning."

And so it begins, another endless day and it was too much to hope today would be a repeat of yesterday. Still, it gives Martin something to concentrate on and maybe, if he's lucky, he can stop thinking about Danny or just how much his final words sounded like an ending.

He's paired with Vivian for the day, leaving Richard to man the office and they need to find a replacement soon. Even a team of four wasn't enough but now that they're down to three, the job is almost too much. Too consuming and he knows if they keep this up, they'll all burn out before the year ends and then there won't be a team at all.

"Any word on Sam's replacement?" he asks the second the thought crosses his mind.

"Not yet, as far as I know, they're still screening candidates," Vivian informs him, leading the way to the elevators but there's something in her tone that tells Martin she's lying.

They ride down in silence, exiting into the parking garage and Martin doesn't bother asking if they can stop for coffee. Climbs into the passenger side door, his hand automatically moving to his pocket and he fingers the two slips of paper he's still carrying. What he should do is throw them both away, tear them into tiny strips or maybe even burn them. He can almost picture himself keeping their ash in a small jar on his dresser, next to matching gold rings and eventually he could turn the entire thing into a shrine; the failed relationships of Martin Fitzgerald on display for everyone to see.

~*~

It's well past noon by the time he has his first coffee. It's strong and bitter and he imagines it's probably the same pot someone made this morning. Not that it stops him, his need for caffeine far greater than his desire for flavor. Besides, it's nothing the addition of copious amounts of sugar can't mask. And now he's edgy, practically bouncing in his seat and his exhaustion long ago faded into restlessness. He has a feeling he won't be sleeping tonight either.

Vivian's out with Richard, running more leads and they still haven't found their missing guy. It's the same story, day after day, and he thinks he should be used to it by now. Except he's not and the panic at the thought of not finding someone still threatens to overwhelm him. So much so, he has to force himself to slow down so he doesn't miss something.

He's halfway through Mike's bank records when his cell phone rings.

"Fitzgerald."

"There's a chance I might have been a little abrupt last night."

And Danny is the last person he expected to hear from. So much so he's rendered incapable of speech. He was expecting Vivian, maybe Richard or another lead in the case. Certainly not Danny in the middle of the afternoon and...

"Danny?"

"Someone's quick today," Danny barbs and, for a moment, Martin can almost convince himself the past three years didn't happen.

"Sorry, I just, I mean, I didn't expect to hear from you," Martin responds, thoughts of the current case vanishing from his mind.

"I know. I... I called to apologize. I know you're probably working, so I won't keep you, but, I'm sorry," Danny replies, his words hesitant like he expects Martin to laugh at them.

"Me too," Martin echoes, finding himself smiling for the first time all day and he no longer regrets calling Danny the first time.

"I should let you go," Danny begins and Martin has to fight against the urge to argue.

He knows Danny's right, now is hardly the time and Martin does have a case to focus on. No doubt Danny has work of his own and Martin's still not certain what he's doing in Miami, only that he's still with the bureau and more than likely keeps regular office hours.

"I'll talk to you later?" Danny continues and Martin nods before he realizes Danny can't actually see him.

"Sure, sounds good," Martin replies, rolling his eyes at himself and hoping he doesn't sound too desperate.

He knows it's not much, but it's a start, and it's better than he had so Martin slides his phone back into his pocket, smiling to himself before turning back to a never-ending pile of bank records.

~*~

He knows he should be focusing on the case.

But it's kind of hard to focus on anything when all he can think about is Danny's phone call. The fact that Danny even called him, let alone to apologize, and Martin can still hear the uncertain tone in Danny's voice that told Martin that maybe he wasn't the only one in over his head.

Which is a ridiculous thought because so far all Danny's done is call and that doesn't really mean anything. Except that he still wants Martin's friendship and, all things considered, it's more than Martin was hoping for. More than Martin anticipated, so he's not about to complain.

"You and Sam reconcile or something?" Richard asks, interrupting Martin's musings and the smile slips from Martin's face.

"What?" Martin asks, wondering how anyone could come to that conclusion.

"Just figured there had to be some reasonable explanation for your sudden mood change," Richard continues, shifting through the papers on Martin's desk and Martin has to fight against the urge to strangle him.

"Do you mind? And it's none of your business," Martin replies, snatching away his carefully sorted paperwork and glaring up at Richard.

"Whatever you say. Vivian wants us to head back over to Mike's office," Richard continues, shrugging off Martin's scowl and nodding toward the doors.

Martin merely nods, cursing Vivian for leaving him alone with the rookie and sending up a silent prayer that they find someone soon. Otherwise, he has a feeling he's going to end up in prison for homicide.

~*~

He feels like they're running in circles, chasing ghosts and, no matter how many pieces they find, it's never enough. It doesn't help that Richard has his own theories, all of which he's shared with Martin, despite Martin's protest. Everything from gangs to drugs to underground sex scenes and maybe prison won't be so bad. Three square meals a day, it's more than he's getting now. Richard's still rambling on and it takes all of Martin's concentration to block him out. He almost cries for joy when his cell rings.

"Fitzgerald."

A wave of disappointment strikes him at hearing Vivian's voice. And even though Danny did mention talking later, Martin knows better than to expect him to call so soon. Still, he finds himself frowning, only half concentrating on Vivian's voice and he barely gets himself together long enough to scribble down the address Vivian rambles off.

"That Viv?" Richard asks when he hangs up and Martin bites his tongue to keep from telling Richard to call her Vivian.

"Yeah, they tapped a phone conversation, they want us to check an address," Martin replies instead, handing over his hastily scribbled note and crossing the street to their parked car.

They don't speak as Martin drives across town, weaving in and out of traffic and by the time they make it to the address in the Bronx, the sun has set and the city is bathed in false light. It doesn't take them long to find the place, a run down house that Martin's surprised isn't condemned. He parks the car out front.

"We should wait for backup," Richard suggests and Martin doesn't tell him they don't have backup.

"Call Vivian, let her know we're here. I'm going to go check the perimeter," Martin orders, not waiting for a reply before climbing out of the car.

There's no sign of life. No sign of anything but weeds and rotting wood and Martin's starting to think they might have the wrong place. He checks the address again, finding it unchanged and this is the place. Part of him knows he should call Richard from the car, go in as a team, but the last thing he wants to deal with is another lecture on why they should wait.

Instead he heads inside, sliding his gun out of his holster and wondering if it would be too early to call Danny back tonight.

~*~

All he really wants to do is go home.

He keeps waiting for Vivian to dismiss him, but she doesn't. She hasn't stopped yelling, going on about procedure and how was he supposed to know Mike was suicidal? He certainly couldn't have known walking into the house would spook the man, or that his mere presence would be enough to send Mike over the edge.

It was bad enough watching the flicker of life vanish from Mike's eyes, let alone having to deal with Vivian's lecture. There were signs, he knew that, and if Vivian had told him the house belonged to Mike's dead parents, maybe Martin would have known. But she didn't, and he didn't, and he screwed up, but he's only human.

"Viv, Vivian, I'm sorry, I..."

"Don't. Martin, I expect to have to worry about this sort of thing with Richard, not you. You know you don't walk into an unsecured area without clearing it first. And you certainly don't go in unless you know it's safe. What if he'd shot you?" Vivian questions, and even when angry, her tone still holds concern.

"He didn't," Martin replies and Mike never once trained his gun on Martin.

Just looked at him with defeated eyes and pulled the trigger. Like it was no big deal, inconsequential and Martin's own safety was the least of Martin's concerns.

"But he could have," Vivian continues, pacing restlessly behind her desk and Martin swallows the urge to ask her to sit down.

"I know, it won't happen again," Martin replies, shifting in his seat and glancing at the clock on the far wall.

It's well past ten and Martin can't remember the last time he got a decent night's sleep. He's exhausted and worn and even willing to forgo calling Danny if it means he can go home, crawl into bed and deal with this in the morning. Vivian seems to sense his restlessness, sighing softly and rubbing a hand across her eyes.

"Go home, get some sleep. You're on a three day suspension," Vivian tells him and Martin wordlessly hands over his weapon.

Doesn't say anything as he exits the office, riding the elevator down alone and by the time he makes it to his car, the image of their latest case lying in a pool of his own blood fades into grey.


	6. Chapter 6

He drives home on autopilot, the streets empty and it takes him a little over twenty minutes to make the commute. Not bad, considering, and there's some advantages to leaving work late. He's not certain it's worth it, and by the time he pulls into his driveway, he's so tired he doesn't even notice the figure sitting on his doorstep. Not until he's halfway up the walkway and then he freezes mid-step.

"What... what are you doing here?" Martin asks, wincing as the words leave his tongue and he forces himself forward to the door.

"I don’t know," Danny replies, throwing Martin's earlier words back at him and Martin struggles with shaking hands to unlock the door.

"Do you want to come in?" Martin asks, shock settling over him until his limbs are numb.

"No, I was planning on spending the night on your front porch, which is nice by the way," Danny replies, and Martin can't tell whether or not he's teasing.

Opens the door anyway, gesturing for Danny to enter and Danny hesitates for half a second before brushing his way inside. Martin's still not certain this isn't all one elaborate hallucination, because Danny Taylor's standing in his hallway and it's too surreal to process.

"Can I get you anything?" Martin offers, shifting uncomfortably and there's something odd about having Danny in his home. In what was once Sam's home and Martin wishes he'd spent more time trying to find an apartment.

"I'm good," Danny replies, and obviously he's just as uncomfortable. Just as awkward and Martin leads them into the kitchen.

"How did you..."

"You're in the system," Danny replies, knowing exactly what Martin was going to ask and he still knows Martin well enough to finish Martin's sentences.

The thought makes Martin smile and Danny cocks his head to the side, glancing at Martin, something close to curiosity flickering in his eyes and Martin only laughs.

"I thought you hated me," Martin explains, still laughing and Danny's smile vanishes.

"I do, sometimes," Danny replies, running fingertips across Martin's counter and Martin can no longer remember what it was he found so funny.

"So then, why are you here?" Martin asks again, fighting against simultaneous anger and disappointment.

"I told you, I don't know. I guess, God, why couldn't you have figured all this out three years ago?" Danny questions and Martin resists the urge to ask Danny what he was supposed to figure out.

Resists the urge to ask Danny if it makes a difference. If it's too late now and Martin has a feeling it might be. But Danny's here now and that has to mean something. Martin just wishes he could figure out what.

Shakes his head and crosses into the living room, sinking into the couch and Danny joins him a moment later. Sitting in the far chair and watching Martin like Martin might hold all the answers and Martin wants to laugh again. Doesn't, instead sighing and resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and meeting Danny's eye.

"Would you have left if I had?" Martin asks, maintaining eye contact and Danny flinches.

Doesn't answer, standing instead and crossing the room until he's right in front of Martin, determination settling over his features and, for a moment, Martin's afraid he might leave. Walk out of the house, head back the airport and out of Martin's life for good. And of course Martin would find some way of screwing this up.

"Probably," Danny finally answers, reaching down to wrap fingers around Martin's wrists and then he's pulling Martin to his feet.

Martin barely manages to keep himself from falling over. Doesn't get out a word before he's covered in Danny; Danny's lips pressed against his, Danny's tongue sliding in his mouth. Danny's hands still gripping Martin's wrists like he's afraid to let go and all Martin can do is stand there frozen, brain still struggling to catch up with the recent change in events.

He's vaguely aware of the sound of moaning and it takes him a moment to recognize his own voice. His hands have somehow made their way into Danny's hair, tilting Danny's head until their lips fit together just right and Danny murmurs something close to approval. It's enough to jump start Martin's brain and he gets it together long enough to pull away. Reaches down and grasps Danny's hand, tugging them toward the stairs and Danny's voice stops him.

"Not there." And Martin doesn't need to ask why.

He knows, and for a moment, awkward silence descends between them. The air suddenly heavy and Martin curses himself for not getting rid of the bed.

"Where?" Martin manages, squeezing Danny's hand and now it's Martin who's afraid to let go.

"Something wrong with your couch?" Danny asks, grinning a familiar grin that Martin hasn't seen in longer than he likes to think about.

Finds himself grinning back, pulling Danny forward until there's nothing between them and he's always liked his couch. Has a feeling it'll be the one piece of furniture he does keep.

~*~

Early morning sun filters through the bay window and Martin finds himself panicking.

Struggling to remember where he is and, just like that, it all comes back to him; their last missing person's suicide, his suspension from work, the long drive home, and finding Danny on his doorstep.

Danny.

Who's nowhere to be found and Martin fights against twisted blankets to sit up. Rubs sleep from his eyes and he's still on the couch, covered in the thin grey blanket that permanently resides in the front hall closet. He doesn't remember retrieving it, doesn't remember anything past the dead weight of Danny collapsing on top of him. The soft feel of Danny's skin sliding against his own and the sensation of Danny pressed inside, stretching Martin and filling him in a way no one-night stand ever has.

He can still feel Danny.

Shifts a little, awkward pain radiating through his limbs and then he's climbing off the couch. Wrapping the blanket around his waist and of course Danny would leave. Probably only came here for the one thing and Martin was an idiot to assume it might mean something more. Or maybe Danny really does hate him and this is his form of punishment.

He makes it into the kitchen, his steps faltering as he notices two rings resting on the counter. His and Sam's and they were upstairs the last time he saw them. He's not certain when Danny went looking for them, or why he was upstairs to begin with, but suddenly it all makes sense. And he should have gotten rid of them, just like he should have gotten rid of the bed and the house and everything connected to his failed marriage. He doesn't blame Danny for not wanting anything to do with him; he doesn't want anything to do with himself.

Back into the living room and his clothes are still strewn about the floor, his pants hanging over the coffee table and his shirt resting beside the couch. Danny's clothes are gone and the only evidence he was ever in the room is the opened condom wrapper under the end table. Martin takes his time getting dressed, sliding fabric over bruises and teeth marks and they count as evidence so maybe Danny's presence does linger.

Danny's address is still folded neatly in the pocket of his pants, along with Sam's letter and Martin wonders if Danny searched his pockets. It wouldn't surprise him, not if Danny took the time to tour the house. Still, it doesn't stop him from pulling out Sam's letter, tearing it in two and letting it fall to the floor. It lands next to the condom wrapper and Martin makes a mental note to clean up later.

Danny's address goes back into his pocket and Martin heads back to the kitchen to retrieve the rings. He's still not sure what to do with them, but he knows he can't keep them. Certainly not for any sentimental reason and he's pulling out the phone book without thought, searching through a listing of pawnshops until he finds one in Queens.

It's not like he has anything better to do today.

~*~

He's been fighting the urge to call Danny since he woke up this morning. Fighting because he knows Danny probably doesn't want to hear from him, not if his abrupt departure is any indication. Martin still doesn't know what Danny wants from him, or what Danny was trying to tell him with the rings.

They're gone now, replaced by four hundred dollars and it's not even a quarter of what he paid for them. He doesn't care, he doesn't need the money and he was half tempted to just give them away anyway. Now he's tempted to send Sam the money, she's entitled to at least half of it and Martin's still expecting a summons in the mail. Something demanding her fair share but he doesn't even know where she is, let alone that she wants anything.

He's still not certain what to do with his time and he finds himself driving in circles. Restless energy humming through his veins and what he should do is find an apartment. Someplace Danny will be comfortable staying and now he's just delusional. Because Danny made it pretty clear he wasn't interested in anything long-term, and even though he technically never said the words, his actions were a clear enough indication and besides, Martin shouldn't even be thinking about him.

What he should be doing is going home, cleaning up the house and packing the rest of his things and maybe seeing about hiring someone to take away his furniture. Except for the couch, he's keeping that. And it's sad, because he can pawn memories from a three-year marriage but the thought of losing something connected to one night is too much to contemplate.

He stops at the corner store, leaving his car running while he heads inside to buy a paper. Picks up milk while he's at it and he doesn't even drink milk. Still, old habits die hard and maybe he'll actually get around to finishing the cereal in the cupboard. His car's making a slight rattling sound when he gets back outside, but he ignores it, climbing in and driving toward his house. Twisting through familiar streets and when he pulls into his driveway, he half expects to see Danny sitting on his porch.

He's not, and Martin rolls his eyes at himself for even wanting it. Slams the car door shut behind him and heads inside, carefully avoiding the living room and taking a seat at the kitchen table. Pulls out the classifieds and opens them up to the rental section and there's still nothing in the paper. Nothing he wants and he's grown used to living in slight luxury. He's not certain he can downgrade at this point in his life.

He could buy another place, maybe a condo in the city or even something else in Queens. But buying implies something permanent and Martin's tired of commitment. Tired of being tied down and for the first time in his life, he finally feels free. The last thing he wants to do is find more shackles. Unless of course he's tied to Danny but he's already had this conversation and Danny isn't interested.

Hasn't even had the decency to call and apologize or offer up an explanation and Martin's pen tears straight through the paper. Ink bleeding into the wood of the table and he can't remember where it came from. A gift maybe and he wonders if he's supposed to return it. Wonders if there's even etiquette for divorce proceedings and old wedding gifts and he imagines there must be.

Hell, these days divorce is more common than marriage and he thinks there must be an entire book of rules he's not aware of. Probably even a section on getting involved with former male coworkers not four weeks after a divorce and Martin considers taking a trip to the library.

Turns back to the paper instead and he hates not being at work. Feels trapped in his own skin and it would be so much easier if Danny hadn't left, even easier if Danny had never shown up to begin with.

~*~

He's completely stir-crazy by the time the three days are up. Pacing around his house like a caged animal and he still hasn't managed to accomplish anything. He's seen a few places, all substandard and he dismissed each out of hand. He did manage to get rid of the bed, which was probably a stupid plan because he doesn't want to buy another one and now he's stuck sleeping on the couch.

Alarm plugged into the far outlet and resting on the coffee table, blankets and pillows thrown haphazardly around the room and his house is starting to look like a war zone. A war zone without food and he still can't believe he managed to go through his collection of groceries in three days. At least he's eating.

And drinking way too much coffee, which explains why he's well over an hour early getting back into work and he feels like he hasn't been here in months. Knows it only technically amounts to just a weekend, but it still takes him a moment to adjust to the soft light. Takes a moment to remember the routine of walking to his desk and even the white board looks out of place.

He hasn't called Danny, but Danny hasn't called him either and Martin's starting to think he imagined the entire thing. The bruises have faded, leaving his skin whole and without imperfection so convincing himself isn't hard. Except he can still feel Danny moving inside him, still picture Danny's expression when he finally came and it's too real for a dream. To vivid and no matter how hard Martin tries to convince himself otherwise, he knows he didn't just imagine it.

He's the first one in, but that's no surprise. He takes his time making coffee, brewing it the way he likes and maybe he should come in early everyday. At the very least it means peace and quiet, and of course, good coffee. Waiting for the coffee maker to brew is another story altogether and he's so used to just pouring a cup that he finds himself growing impatient. Shifting restlessly on the balls of his feet until finally, finally, the machine beeps and he no longer has to wait.

He takes him time heading back to his desk, noticing Vivian's light and she obviously just got in. He wonders if she comes in this early everyday, or if today is somehow special. He doesn't have a chance to ponder the thought long before Vivian's door swings open, Vivian nodding in his direction and beckoning him into the office.

The last thing he needs is another lecture but he finds himself standing anyway. Cradling his coffee in his hand as he crosses the room and enters Vivian's office. Closes the door behind him and takes a seat on the chair directly in front of her desk. And Vivian looks tired, slightly edgy like she's about to fire him. Martin covers his nervousness by taking a sip of coffee and it's still too bitter.

"What's up?" Martin asks, burning his tongue on a mouthful of coffee and he just manages to keep from wincing.

"We've replaced Sam," Vivian explains, studying Martin as if waiting for an unpleasant reaction.

"That's good, we need someone," Martin replies, and please, not another rookie.

He doesn't think he could handle another rookie but there's not exactly a lot of seasoned agents fighting to get into Missing Persons. And he doesn't really understand that because sure, it might not be glamorous, but it is rewarding, in its own way.

"Actually, Danny's coming back. That's why he was here last week," Vivian continues, still studying Martin and Martin's coffee shakes in his hand.

"Oh."

A thousand questions dance through his mind but he's still stuck on the thought of Danny coming back. Stuck on the fact that Danny knew and never said a damn thing, even when he was standing in Martin's house and Martin can't even begin to figure it out.

"I need to know you're okay with this," Vivian continues, frowning slightly and Martin wonders just how much she knows.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Martin asks, afraid of the answer but it never comes.

Vivian only nods, smiling something close to understanding and then Martin's dismissed. Left to head back to his desk, feeling slightly dazed and Martin considers taking back his words. Telling Vivian he's not okay with it and maybe they should look for someone else. Except he doesn't think that's an option and besides, Danny's still better than a rookie, even if Martin has no clue where he stands with the other man.

He still doesn't know when Danny's starting, but he has a feeling it might just be today. And that leaves him uncertain and what the hell is he supposed to say to Danny? Welcome back, it's nice to see you again, oh, and thanks for the fuck? Martin shakes his head, flipping on his computer and wondering if he would have been better off never setting foot in New York.

~*~

He's tense, jumping at every sound and he almost wishes Vivian hadn't said anything. He tells himself this way he's prepared, but it doesn't stop him from twitching every time something flickers across his peripheral vision. Doesn't stop him from glancing over his shoulder every time the elevator opens or flinching involuntarily every time voices drift across the room. Danny still hasn't arrived.

And technically Martin's not even sure he's coming in today, but his stomach is still a twisted ball of nerves and he can't help but continuously check the time. His coffee remains untouched, half full from exactly fifty-three minutes ago and he's tempted to get a fresh cup. Except the thought of forcing anything down his throat only increases his nausea and he's high-strung enough as it is.

More voices and this time it's Richard, strolling into the office, right on time, as always, and a surge of irritation almost overwhelms Martin. So much so he finds himself frowning, practically glowering and when Richard notices, he immediately crosses the room to stand by Martin's desk.

"What happened to your good mood?" Richard asks, and it strikes Martin that he resembles a pig.

Round cheeks accompanied by an upturned nose and even his voice is pig-like. He resists the urge to suggest Richard should have looked into a career with the NYPD.

"Don't you have something better to do?" Martin asks, busying himself with a pile of nonessential paperwork and hoping Richard takes the hint.

"Not really, not until we get a new case, anyway," Richard replies. "I hear we're getting some new guy. Some hotshot who's going to make us all look bad," Richard continues, ignoring Martin's attempt at dismissal.

He leans into the side of Martin's desk, absently chewing his cuticle and Martin resists the urge to push him onto the floor.

"Some of us, anyway," Martin replies, but the insult goes right over Richard's head and then the elevator doors are opening.

Danny waltzing into the room like he owns the fucking place and Martin's irritation vanishes. Replaced by part apprehension, part anticipation and when Danny makes eye contact, Martin's heart lodges in his throat.

"Think that's him?" Richard asks, eyeing Danny like he's competition and Martin wants to laugh.

Martin doesn't answer, instead standing and crossing the room to meet Danny in the hall, determination settling over him until Martin's nervousness dissipates into resolve.

"Martin, so good to see you again," Danny states, tone professional but his eyes shine with amusement, his smirk screaming self-satisfaction.

"Likewise," Martin replies, stepping into Danny's space and Danny's smile falters. "In fact, I didn't expect to ever see you again," Martin continues, smiling at the slight flicker of guilt in Danny's eyes.

They're so close Martin can smell Danny's cologne. Practically taste it and if he took another step forward, they'd be pressed against one another. Some of Danny's certainty vanishes, but he doesn't back down, remaining in Martin's space and Martin's surprised the air around them doesn't burst into flames.

And it's strange, but not as awkward as Martin anticipated and he gets the distinct impression this is all just a game for Danny. He has a feeling the other night was part of the same game and maybe this is Danny's way of reestablishing balance between them. Not exactly the method Martin would have used, but at least they're talking.

"You two know each other or something?" Richard interrupts and Martin's right back to cursing Richard's presence.

"Who the hell are you?" Danny asks, turning to glare at Richard and Martin can't help but laugh.

"This is your replacement," Martin replies. "Danny, Richard. Richard, Danny," Martin continues, watching understanding flicker in Richard's eyes and no doubt he's heard the rumors by now. Probably knows exactly who Danny is and, hell, maybe even exactly how well Martin knows him.

For a moment the air seems a little too heavy, but then Vivian enters the room, leading the team to the conference table and he's no longer certain he didn't imagine the sudden shift.

~*~

Vivian hasn't paired him with Danny. In fact, he hasn't even seen Danny since this morning and Martin can almost convince himself Danny's not even here. Still back in Miami and, hell, for all Martin knows, he's still happily married to Sam and the past month has been nothing but a dream.

He knows that's not the case, but he thinks it might be easier if it was. Easier but not necessarily better and what he should do is drag Danny into some dark closet and force the other man to have an actual conversation. Straighten some things out because there's no way they're actually going to be able to work together unless they do.

And maybe this is why Vivian's keeping them separated. Maybe she knows and this is just her way of maintaining the peace. Her way of avoiding awkward confrontation and that's probably a good idea. Still, Martin can't help but feel slightly disappointed and even more annoyed with Richard than usual.

Richard's silent for once, seeming almost uncomfortable sitting next to Martin in the car and now Martin's certain he's heard the rumors. And it would just figure that Richard, on top of all his other flaws, would also end up being slightly homophobic. His reaction alone is the reason Martin's spent the majority of his life living in the closet.

And technically, Martin hasn't said anything either way, but the thought of hiding no longer appeals to him so he's not too concerned what Richard does or doesn't know. Three years ago he would probably be freaking out, but things change, people change and even though he's not willing to say the words, it doesn't bother him that he doesn't need to.

What he does need to do is figure out exactly what game Danny's playing. Exactly why Danny accepted the position and why he showed up at Martin's house and why he left the next morning without so much as a word and why...

"There's our guy," Richard interrupts, his usually enthusiasm gone and Martin doesn't comment.

He climbs out of the car instead and heads across the street to question their missing person's ex.


	7. Chapter 7

Martin knows he should be working, but he can't seem to focus long enough to get anything done. Not with Danny sitting at his desk, engrossed in a pile of paperwork and all Martin would have to do is stand up and cross the room. Perch on the side of Danny's desk like he used to and strike up a conversation and...

"Martin, come take a look at this." And now apparently Danny's a mind reader.

That doesn't bode well for Martin but he stands all the same. Crosses the room and he won't perch. Stands with his arms crossed over his chest mere feet from Danny's desk and Danny has the nerve to arch an eyebrow.

"Apparently our missing girl ran an online community for sex fetishes," Danny states, pointing at the screen and Martin can't tell if his amusement is genuine.

Thinks maybe it might be a mask for something else but the lead is valid, the closest they've gotten to finding an actual direction and Martin forces himself to stop thinking about Danny as anything other than a coworker.

"Any way we can find out the identities of her members?" Martin asks, relaxing a little but leaving his arms crossed.

"Already on it," Danny replies, and obviously Danny's time outside Missing Persons has done nothing to diminish his skills.

"I'll call Vivian and let her know," Martin states, pulling out his cell and he jumps when Danny places a hand on his wrist.

His fingers freeze over the numbers and he turns to stare at Danny, eyes wide and Danny's expression is serious. Slightly nervous and suddenly there's too much moisture in Martin's mouth. Danny seems to struggle with himself for a moment before breaking eye contact, his hand falling away and whatever he was going to say disappears into the air around them.

Martin continues to stare until the need for oxygen reminds him that he's holding his breath. He inhales slowly, glancing back down at his phone and telling himself it's better this way. Calls Vivian and relays the details, getting the go-ahead to question the site's members and Danny's still not making eye contact. Staring at his computer screen like it's the most fascinating thing in the world and Martin clears his throat before pocketing his phone.

"Vivian said to go ahead and bring in anyone we need for questioning," Martin explains, watching Danny nod and obviously Vivian's no longer concerned about them working together.

~*~

They find their missing woman just after eight o'clock, chained to a motel bed and looking none to impressed that the FBI took an interest in her extra-curricular activities. It's probably the strangest case Martin's ever worked, but, at the very least, it ended well; as well as threats of lawsuits and men dressed in leather can ever end. Still, it's good enough for Martin.

With the exception of anything case related, he still hasn't spoken to Danny. Not since they were standing in the woman's hotel room, verifying that, yes, she wasn't being held against her will. He's the last one in the office, the lights already dimmed and the white board cleaned. He's stalling, he knows that, but the thought of going home doesn't appeal to him and the thought of going anywhere else leaves him feeling sick and guilty.

"You know, you really do need to get a life," Danny's voice echoes from behind him.

Martin spins around to stare, blinking at Danny and not really knowing what to say. He thought Danny had left, gone home or wherever it is he's staying and Martin doubts he's had time to find an apartment.

"Thanks for the advice," Martin replies, tone bitter and Danny's smile fades.

Danny shifts restlessly for a moment something close to sadness settling onto his features and Martin instantly regrets his choice of words.

"I'm sorry," Martin apologizes, running a shaking hand through his hair and Danny just stares at him.

Like Martin's some sort of puzzle and any minute now the final piece will click into place. Except Martin's not a puzzle, he's not made up of pieces and nothing will ever click in place.

"Me too," Danny finally answers, crossing the room and standing just outside Martin's reach.

For a moment, Martin doesn't know what to say. Doesn't have words and Danny's still staring at him. Still looking slightly out of place and completely defeated and Martin has to fight against the urge to kiss him.

"What do you want from me?" Danny asks and Martin can't tell if he really wants an answer or if he's just trying to break the awkward silence.

"You don't know?" Martin replies, giving Danny a pointed look and Danny knows.

Has probably known this entire time but of course Danny's a master at making things difficult.

"Are you still in love with her?" Danny asks, ignoring Martin's answer and suddenly it all makes sense.

Danny leaving, the rings, the awkward tension between them and of course Danny would still be threatened by Martin's relationship with Sam. It's so clear it almost hurts and the urge to kiss Danny intensifies.

"No. I'm not sure I ever was," Martin responds.

Silence seems to stretch on into eternity and Martin's starting to think Danny's not going to say anything.

Not going to comment on Martin's confession and Martin's half tempted to take the words back. Tell Danny he did love Sam, but it's a lie and he's tired of lying to Danny. Tired of lying to himself and Martin finds himself shifting nervously.

"I... I should go," Danny finally states and Martin's stomach sinks.

Bile rising in the back of his throat and he doesn't think he can handle this. He's half tempted to demand a direction, either way, because he spent three years involved in a dead-end relationship and he's not about to go down that road a second time. But Danny doesn't look like he intends to say anything else and he's heading back to the elevators before Martin can even process what's happening.

"Wait."

And he still doesn't know what he wants to say. What he can say that might change Danny's mind and the words probably don't exist. Because this is Martin's doing, Martin's fault for thinking he could ignore Danny and play at being a husband. Martin's fault for choosing Sam over Danny and even though, at the time, he didn't know Danny was an option, he knows he should have known.

Should have realized it the second Danny left but he tells himself that Danny came back, and that has to mean something. A second chance if only Martin could get the words out but he can't, they remain frozen on his tongue and Danny's still staring at him. Halfway out of the office and Martin crosses the room to stand in Danny's path.

"Do you... do you need a place to stay?" Martin asks and it's probably the worst thing he could have said.

Danny blinks, looking at Martin like he's crazy before shaking his head and laughing. "No, I've got a room at the Radisson, but thanks," Danny replies, still laughing and the air's not quite as heavy as it was.

"I don't know what to do about this," Martin confesses, smiling slightly and Danny stops laughing.

"Go home, get some sleep. You still look like shit," Danny replies, tone teasing and Martin nods.

Moves aside and lets Danny pass. And it's not what he wants, but it's probably the safe option. At least now he thinks there might be some chance for a friendship and, even though it's not his first choice, it's better than nothing.

~*~

He wonders how so many Americans can spend their lives watching television. There's nothing on, at least, nothing that holds his interest. He's spent the past two hours flipping, landing on random programs only to dismiss them and move on to the next. He long ago gave up on sleep, the night replaying through his head and he can't help but wonder what he could have said to keep Danny from leaving.

Frustrated, he turns off the television, casting the room into darkness before standing from his place on the couch. He's still wearing the day's suit, his tie gone and shirt wrinkled. He considers changing, but it's late and technically he should be sleeping. Not that he can foresee that happening anytime soon and he's heading toward the door before he can reason where he wants to go.

He takes Sam's car, his own still making that rattling noise and he keeps expecting it to break down at the side of the road. Sam's car smells slightly like smoke and perfume, an odd mixture that causes his nose to twitch and his lungs to constrict. He opens the window, pulling out of the driveway and heading down the street.

For a while, he drives in random circles, all leading him nowhere and it's not until he passes Federal Plaza that he knows where he's going. And Danny's probably sleeping, but it doesn't stop Martin from parking across the street from the hotel. Doesn't stop Martin from climbing out of the car and heading inside to the front desk. There's a chance they won't let him in or maybe even send him away, so he pulls out his credentials just in case.

Flashes his badge and demands Danny's room number. He even goes so far as to warn them not to announce his presence and he has a feeling this qualifies as abuse of power. Not that he cares. He's too overcome by exhaustion to care and by the time he finds himself standing in front of Danny's door, a strange sense of calm has replaced all his previous apprehension.

He knocks, the sound carrying through the hall and, for a moment, he thinks Danny might not answer. Raises his hand a second time and when he hears rustling on the other side of the door, he lets his arm fall back to his side. Takes a steadying breath and then the door is swinging open.

Danny staring at him from beneath sleep-creased eyes and his hair is a mess of spikes. Sticking up in all directions and Martin resists the urge to reach out and smooth it down. Shifts instead, forcing his expression neutral and maybe Danny won't question his presence.

"Martin? What are you doing here?" Danny asks and Martin knew it was too much to hope for.

"You're full of shit, you know that?" Martin replies, cringing at the words and it's not what he meant to say.

Wasn't even aware he was angry until it came out, heat pooling in his stomach and it has nothing to do with the image of Danny in only boxers. Not entirely, anyway, and Martin's jaw clenches as he waits for Danny's response.

"You came all the way over here to tell me that?" Danny asks his tone incredulous like he thinks Martin might just be crazy.

"Yes," Martin replies, the simple answer said with such force that Danny actually laughs.

Stands aside and motions for Martin to enter and Martin congratulates himself for getting this far. And now that he's in Danny's room, he doesn't know what to do. Because he doesn't have a plan, doesn't know what he wants or even what he hopes to accomplish.

"Okay, I'm full of shit. Care to explain?" Danny asks once the door is shut, the room still dark and Martin's starting to think this is a bad idea.

"You really expect me to believe you don't care? You leave cryptic messages for me, show up in New York and take your old job back and you really think you can pretend this has nothing to do with me?" Martin questions, accusation bleeding into his words and guilt flashes in Danny's eyes.

"That's a little self-absorbed, don't you think?" Danny retorts, moving across the room to flick on a lamp.

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you're not here because of me," Martin continues, dreading Danny's answer but needing it all the same.

"And so what if I am?" Danny asks, his frustration obvious, and Martin's starting to think maybe Danny doesn't have an answer.

Maybe Danny doesn't even know why he's here and maybe this is just as confusing for Danny as it is for Martin. And now Danny's pacing, up one side of the room and down the other and Martin's tempted to step into his path. Stop him before he wears a hole in the carpet but Martin knows better. Knows Danny needs time to reason all this out and maybe Martin should have just stayed home and slept. Considers leaving to do just that.

"I can't keep doing this with you," Martin whispers instead, his anger dissipating into defeat and this isn't how he pictured this conversation.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Danny finally answers, suddenly stopping and anger flashes in his eyes. "I'm over you."

The words hit Martin hard, but he knows Danny doesn't mean them. There's no force behind them and, if anything, it sounds like Danny's trying to convince himself, not Martin.

"Then why are you here?" Martin asks, closing the distance between them and feeling instantly guilty when Danny looks up.

Pain flashes in his eyes, so raw it takes Martin's breath away and he suddenly wishes he could erase the past three years of his life.

"I don't know," Danny answers after a pause and Martin places a hand on Danny's shoulder.

Squeezes a little harder than necessary and leans into Danny's space. Hesitates for only a moment before closing the distance between them, pressing his lips against Danny and when Danny kisses him back, Martin can't help but whimper. His whimper turning into a moan when Danny instinctively opens his mouth and lets Martin's tongue push inside.

And kissing Danny shouldn't be this addictive, but it is, it's everything Martin's wanted in longer than he can remember. Certainly longer than he was aware of but now that he has it, he's not going to question it. And there's still so many things left unsaid, but this is a start and the rest of the conversation can wait. At least until the morning and when Danny pulls Martin's shirt free, Martin stops thinking.

Stops worrying about the future, stops worrying about everything but the feel of Danny's hands sliding against his skin. Danny's tongue mapping his mouth and the heat radiating off Danny's body. They're moving backward, inching toward the bed and Martin pauses when Danny's knees hit the back of the mattress. Pulls back long enough to make eye contact and Danny still looks lost.

"Either you tell me to leave, or I stay. And tomorrow we deal with this, because I can't keep playing this game with you," Martin whispers, staring into the depths of Danny's eyes and Danny blinks before nodding.

"Good," Martin comments before surging forward, reclaiming Danny's lips and pushing Danny until they're both sprawled across the bed.

Falling in a tangle of limbs with so much heat between them Martin's half afraid they might spontaneously combust. It doesn't happen, and Martin struggles out of his clothes, wrinkled shirt landing on the floor at the foot of the bed and his pants following behind. He shifts to slide out of his boxers, pulling Danny's off a fraction of a second later and then it's nothing but skin.

Silk and heat and Martin settles on top of Danny, rocking against him until they're both flushed and moaning. Breath coming in laboured gasps and Danny's bucking up into the sensation, wrapping his legs around Martin's waist and pulling Martin even closer. Closer still and Martin wants to crawl inside Danny. Stay there for an eternity and then Danny can never change his mind. Never decide this isn't worth fighting for and Martin thinks maybe they should have had that conversation first.

But there's still time, and if the way Danny's moaning is any indication, Martin has a feeling he'll still be here come morning.

~*~

Epilogue:

Vivian warned him, gave him advanced notice and Martin almost wishes she hadn't. Because he's spent the entire morning stressing about this moment and by the time Jack strolls into the office, Martin's nerves are frayed and he can't seem to sit still.

Sam's with him, looking happier than she ever has and Martin has to admit, Jack's good for her. Better than he ever was, anyway, and he can't help but be happy for her. Can't help but smile when she enters the room and suddenly the tension he's been feeling all morning vanishes.

Danny still looks slightly tense, like he thinks Martin might actually throw away their last four months together and go crawling back to Sam. Not that it will ever happen and Martin smiles reassuringly at Danny, reaching under the table and taking his hand, squeezing just hard enough to make his point. It seems to help and Danny relaxes back into his chair, returning Martin's smile.

They've had this discussion more times that he can count and it bothers him that Danny still doubts. But this is the first time either of them have seen Sam since they began their journey toward a relationship. It hasn't been easy, not by a long stretch, and Martin still feels like he's making amends. But they've come a long way and they're finally getting to the point where the trust has been rebuilt, a commitment made and Martin's not about to let Sam's presence screw all that up.

Not when everything he wants is sitting right next to him, smelling faintly like spice and cologne and Martin squeezes Danny's hand that much harder.

"Martin, Danny," Jack acknowledges, nodding in their direction and Martin stands, pulling Danny up next to him and purposely not releasing his hand.

The gesture seems to relax Danny further and Martin catches the hint of a grin just outside his peripheral vision.

"Jack, good to see you again," Martin replies, returning Jack's nod before glancing over at Sam. "Hi, Sam."

"Hi, Martin. Hey, Danny," Sam replies, looking slightly out of place herself and the entire situation is so strange, Martin wants to laugh.

He doesn't, but he can't help but grin, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all and the act seems to lighten the mood. First Sam joins him in silent laughter, and then Danny and finally Jack until the four of them are standing around the conference table, laughter echoing around the room and of all the ways Martin pictured this moment, this isn't one of them.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Danny finally speaks, his voice soft and warm and Martin's instantly transported back in time.

Back to the beginning, before Jack left and before Martin screwed up. Back when they were actually a team and a wave of nostalgia almost overwhelms him.

"Thanks," Sam replies, rubbing the swell of her stomach and smiling at Jack.

Pride flashes in Jack's eye and Danny grins, nodding his approval and it strikes Martin that Danny would make a good father. But discussions about adoption are something to save for another day, for now Martin's content to catch up with his former colleagues. His former friends and this will probably be the last time they're all standing in a room together, but it's a nice ending, as far as endings go.

A nice beginning too and maybe now Danny will stop worrying about Sam or her place in Martin's life. And maybe now they can move forward, mend the remaining holes in their relationship and start planning a future.

And Martin does want a future with Danny, and even if it takes time, Danny's worth the wait.

Fin.


End file.
